


Silver

by MindfulWrath



Category: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous Relationships, Blood, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Manipulation, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11414010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: Jekyll seeks legal help after the fire at the Society, while Hyde continues to make his life more difficult in every conceivable way. Hyde challenges him to go a week without transforming; Jekyll makes promises he can't keep.





	1. Chapter 1

"I dislike that Hyde fellow immensely," said Utterson. Jekyll froze halfway through uncorking the wine.

"Well," he said, picking his composure up off the floor and dusting it off, "he is a bit rough around the edges, hah hah. One gets used to him after a while."

"I've spoken with Lanyon about him," Utterson said. "He doesn't like him, either."

 _What a shock,_ Jekyll thought, although the words had a distinctly Hyde-ish cast to them. He shook himself, pouring out two glasses of wine. If he filled his a little fuller than he ought to have, it was only because it had been a stressful few days.

"Robert dislikes anyone and everyone who didn't go to school with him," Jekyll said, ferrying a glass of wine to Utterson and settling into the armchair next to his. He had a sip of his wine, hoping to encourage Utterson to do the same. The lawyer became significantly more pliant after a couple of glasses.

"Neither one of us can work out what you see in the man," Utterson went on, dogged. "Lanyon seems particularly disturbed by it. He worries at it constantly. He's of the opinion that the man has no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and certainly none that _you_ would find endearing."

"Ah, jealousy, that green-eyed monster," Jekyll remarked, smiling to himself.

 _Oy,_ Hyde muttered, scowling. Jekyll sipped his wine again.

"Is it warranted?" Utterson asked bluntly. Jekyll flushed from his chest to his hairline.

"Absolutely not," he snapped. "My association with Mr. Hyde is—is purely, _purely_ professional."

 _Well done_ _,_ Hyde said dryly. _Very convincing._

Utterson raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," he said. He finally took a sip of his wine. He closed his eyes and sighed all the tension out of his shoulders.

"I do," said Jekyll. "And of course, I appreciate your concern. Yours and Lanyon's, both. I understand that Mr. Hyde is . . . unusual company. I hope you can understand that he is useful despite that."

 _How kind of you_ _,_ said Hyde. _All this flattery's going to go to my head._

"And yet," said Utterson, "you seem unwilling to use him."

"As a scapegoat, yes, I'm rather reluctant," Jekyll said, his tongue going sharp. He took a gulp of wine to soften it. "A person might almost get the idea that you and Lanyon are simply trying to get rid of the man and have seized upon this as a prime opportunity."

"I'm trying to help you, Henry," Utterson said gently.

Jekyll let out a slow breath, rubbing his face.

"I know," he said, the exhaustion catching up with him. "I know, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into this mess, it's only—"

"You needed a lawyer," said Utterson. "Desperately, by my estimates."

"Rather," Jekyll admitted.

A lull came over them. Utterson swirled his wine and had another sip.

"Would you like to know how I can tell?" he said.

"Regale me," said Jekyll, gesturing expansively.

"It's because you've broken out the Claret," he said, a very faint smile on his very serious face. "And a fine vintage, as well."

Jekyll sighed, regarding Utterson fondly.

"You've caught me out," he said. "I admit I thought myself particularly clever for that one."

"Well, you've succeeded in putting me in a better mood," said Utterson. "I would, of course, have helped you anyway, but I would have been annoyed about it."

"Of course," said Jekyll. "I know it's asking terribly much of you, especially since I won't be able to pay right away, considering the Society's—"

Utterson waved him off, having another sip of wine.

 _"Pro bono,_ Henry," he said.

"Gabriel," Jekyll said, struck. "You—you can't. It'll put you out of house and home. You must at least let me pay you back once things have settled, I insist."

"Well," said Utterson, and there was that minute twinkle in his eye that told Jekyll he'd just walked right into a trap. "There is something you could do for me, if you insist that anything must be done."

"What is it?" said Jekyll. He did not say, _A_ _nything._ He had put his foot in that one just a few too many times.

"You could stop seeing Mr. Hyde," said Utterson. "Fire him, ban him from the Society, cut off your association with the man."

"I've already told you, I'm not throwing him to the wolves," Jekyll said, bristling.

 _Don't let dear little Jasper hear you say that one,_ Hyde remarked. Jekyll would have kicked him if he could.

"That's not what I said," said Utterson, with infinite patience. "I asked that you stop associating with him. Just let him go his own way. The man's been nothing but trouble since he arrived. I do dislike him immensely, Henry."

"He is an important part of this organization," Jekyll said tightly, his hand clenched on his wine glass, "and I see no reason why he should be let go."

"I see no reason why he should be kept on," said Utterson. "If you could explain it to me, I'd be most appreciative. I do still intend to represent you and the Society, if that affects your answering at all. I'm asking this as a favor. I'm asking it as a friend."

Jekyll took his time answering. He drank some of his wine. He forced himself to relax his hand before he shattered the glass.

"Mr. Hyde has access to people and places that I do not," he said eventually. "People and places that I _can't_ access, if I'm to maintain any sort of respectability."

"First of all, I imagine there's hundreds of people like that," said Utterson. "And second of all, from what I've seen, the only danger to your respectability _is_ Hyde."

"What is it about him that impressed you so unfavorably?" Jekyll demanded. "When I spoke with him about you, he told me it was a pleasant and uneventful meeting."

Utterson cocked one dark eyebrow.

"Did he," he said. "That wasn't my experience."

"I know he can be a bit . . . _sharp,_ yes, but—"

"It wasn't his sharpness that concerned me," said Utterson, cutting him off. "Nor his abrasiveness, nor his impropriety. No, Mr. Hyde struck me as a singularly irresponsible and disreputable man, intensely selfish, with as much regard for you and the Society as most men have for a slug."

 _Hah! He's not wrong,_ said Hyde.

 _"_ _That_ is why I feel it's best for you to let him go," Utterson concluded. _"_ _That_ is why I dislike him. _That_ is why I am so puzzled as to the nature of your relationship with the man."

"I appreciate your concern, my dear friend," Jekyll said wearily. "And I promise you that the instant Mr. Hyde makes himself more trouble than he is worth, I shall be rid of him forever."

 _The hell you will,_ said Hyde, suddenly much less jovial.

"I'm having difficulty understanding how that instant hasn't already come and gone," said Utterson.

"Yes, I suppose you would," said Jekyll, his politic wearing thin. "You've never had the time nor patience for anyone even an inch below your station, not to mention your complete lack of any imagination whatsoever."

"But I do imagine things, and the things that I imagine might be driving this very peculiar partnership upset me," said Utterson. "I'm worried about you, Henry. I'm worried you've gotten in over your head. I wish you would talk to me. I wish you would take pity on my imagination and explain."

"My business with Mr. Hyde is my own," Jekyll said.

 _That'll_ _definitely_ _convince him it's a ~professional~ relationship,_ said Hyde.

"Yes, but Henry—"

"Gabriel, how long have we been friends?" Jekyll interrupted. "You know I'm not the sort to get myself into trouble I can't get back out of. Trust me. I'll know when I'm in over my head."

 _You're in so far over your head you can't even see the surface,_ Hyde said, derisive. _But_ _at least you_ _know it!_

Utterson sighed, shaking his head. "I can't say I understand," he said, "but I'll trust you to know yourself and your own business best."

"Thank you," Jekyll said warmly. "Shall I top off your glass for you, and we'll discuss what's to be done about the current, ah, _immolated_ state of the Society?"

"Yes," said Utterson, "I think that sounds appropriate."

* * *

 

It took approximately four years for Jekyll to rid himself of Utterson. Eventually he had to resort to getting him too drunk for polite company, at which point Utterson did the decent thing and excused himself, albeit somewhat unsteadily.

When he had gone, Jekyll drew the curtains and sank back into his armchair, his face in his hands. He couldn't recall the last time he'd slept properly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept at all. He'd somehow managed to talk Utterson around to pinning the explosion on the theater company next door, instead of on Hyde—now that the talking was over, he couldn't remember how he'd done it.

The taste of silver was bitter on his tongue. He wondered idly if it was poisoning him. It certainly wasn't pleasant.

He heaved himself up and opened another bottle of wine, this one of a much less fine vintage. He no longer had anyone to impress. Perhaps if he went through enough of them, he could sleep, or at least pass out.

 _It's hilarious to watch you sticking up for me,_ Hyde said. _You should do it more often._

"Go away," Jekyll sighed.

 _So do you think they figure I'm blackmailing you?_ he asked anyway. _Ooh, or maybe they think we're_ _~_ _romantically involved_ _~_ _! Imagine the look on proper Dr. Lanyon's face while he pictures you in bed with—_

"Gutter trash?" Jekyll supplied.

 _What?!_ Hyde cried. _How dare you! I am a_ _diamond in the rough,_ _I am a night-spirit, I am—_

"Gutter trash," Jekyll said happily.

 _I'm_ _you,_ Hyde snarled. _Gutter trash, yourself, or you would be, without that shiny ~reputation~ you love so much. It's a shell. It's a sham. Deep inside, you're everything I am. Not so shiny once you take the polish off, are you, dear doctor?_

Jekyll's jaw clenched. He turned his back and poured himself a glass of wine. He slugged half of it down in one gulp.

 _Oh, hit a nerve, did I?_ Hyde said.

Jekyll drank the rest of his wine.

 _I'll take that as a yes,_ he said smugly.

"Haven't you caused enough trouble for one day?" Jekyll asked.

 _No such thing,_ said Hyde. _And I didn't cause anything. Moreau did, and I killed him. Don't know if you noticed that. They should be giving me a medal, instead of persecuting me._

"You blew up the building!"

 _Moreau's flamethrower blew up the building,_ said Hyde, pouting.

"Because you dropped a caber on it! I _told_ you not to do it, and you didn't listen, and now the whole Society's a burnt-out shell!"

_So much the better. It was due for a good cleaning-out._

"I should have let you burn," Jekyll said nastily. "I should throw you under the wheels like Robert and Gabriel advised."

 _Go ahead,_ Hyde said, his lip curling. _Enjoy ruining your precious reputation. You wouldn't last a week without me. I'll enjoy watching you drag your own name through the mud._

"Is that a challenge?" Jekyll asked.

 _I_ _t is now,_ said Hyde. _One week. Let's see how well you hold up._ _It's a shame you couldn't have waited a bit. Now y_ _ou won't get to go to the_ _Blackfog_ _Bazaar at all._

"That was already off the table," said Jekyll, although a pang shot through his chest. "There's too much else to be done. _Sleeping,_ for once, for example."

 _Sleep when you're dead,_ said Hyde, shrugging. _You're so boring._

"And _y_ _ou_ are _exhausting,"_ said Jekyll. He leaned his back against the cabinet and shut his eyes. He let out a slow breath through his mouth. A pair of phantom arms looped around his shoulders. The mane of blond hair leaned against his head, no weightier than a dandelion.

 _Just don't tell Lanyon I've been keeping you up all night,_ Hyde said. _He'll have an aneurism._ _Not that that wouldn't be hilarious. Actually, now that I've thought of it,_ _do_ _tell him_ _that_ _. I want to see him pop._

"You have an uncanny knack for phrasing things in absolutely the most revolting way possible," said Jekyll. He considered another glass of wine, but that would have meant moving, and he was much too tired to move. He could stand to let Hyde lounge on him for a while, if it meant he could snatch a few moments of stillness.

 _Someone's_ _got to tarnish that silver tongue of yours,_ said Hyde. _Although I suppose that for the next week, you'll have to do it yourself, won't you. If you can stomach it._

"I managed three decades without you," said Jekyll. "I can manage seven days."

 _Can you?_ he inquired, amused. _This is one genie that won't go back in the bottle, dear doctor. You snapped your soul in half, and there's no glue in the world that can stick it back together._

"I broke it," said Jekyll, "I can fix it whenever I want."

_Hah! Such confidence. Such unswerving hubris! Do you even listen to yourself when you talk?_ _Now that you've had a taste of what life is like with the shackles off, you'll never be able to resign yourself back to them._

"I can, and I will," said Jekyll. "You're nothing more than a—a fling, a temporary—"

Hyde burst out laughing, tightening his arms around Jekyll's shoulders.

 _It's no wonder everyone thinks we're screwing,_ he said. _With you talking about me like that~_

"You insufferable—"

There was a knock at the door. Hyde evanesced, like fog upon a windowpane. Jekyll struggled to collect himself, to swallow down the rage heating the backs of his teeth.

"Yes, come in," he said. With some effort, he creaked to his chair and lowered himself into it. Eyes down, he poured out some more wine.

The door eked open, and Jasper poked his head in.

"Um," he said. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, not at all," said Jekyll, beckoning. "Come in, come in. I promise I won't bite."

 _Unless he wants you to,_ Hyde sniggered. Jekyll sipped his wine and imagined it pouring down onto the bastard's puffy blond head.

"All right," said Jasper. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him, nearly pressing his back to it. "It's only, I thought I heard talking."

Jekyll's joints locked up. For a moment he couldn't breathe.

"Ah," he said. "Well. I do sometimes wind up talking to myself, hah hah. One of those scientific habits one sometimes forgets to put down."

"R-right," said Jasper. "Yeah, happens all the time."

 _Now he thinks you're crayyyzeeee~_ Hyde sang. _And he's right._

Jekyll flashed a tight smile at the boy and drank a bit more wine. His hands were shaking.

"So," he said. "I assume there was a reason you came to see me? Don't tell me something else has gone wrong. _Please,_ hah hah, don't tell me that."

"Oh, no, Dr. Jekyll, nothing's gone wrong," said Jasper. "I just wanted to say, um. How sorry I am. About what happened at the Society. It seems like I've just been dragging trouble with me wherever I go—"

"Jasper, _Jasper,"_ said Jekyll, cutting him off. "What happened at the Society was not even _remotely_ your fault. I know that sometimes it can feel that one brings trouble wherever one goes, but—well, the world is chaotic, and bad luck always does seem to come in waves. I'm just glad no one was seriously hurt. The building is replaceable. You aren't."

Jasper rubbed his arm, blushing.

"Oh," he said. "Gosh. Um. Right. I—I just felt like I could have done more. To stop Moreau. M-maybe if somebody else had got to him first, Mr. Hyde wouldn't've had to get involved, and . . . things might've gone differently. Or if—if we hadn't all stood about talking about Dr. Frankenstein, maybe we could've been more ready, and the Society wouldn't've got blown up."

"Again," said Jekyll, gently, "not your fault. From what I've heard, there was a great deal of standing about jabbering from all parties involved, _especially_ Mr. Hyde."

"Right," said Jasper. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable. "Um, Dr. Jekyll—"

"It's Henry, Jasper," said Jekyll. "Please, call me Henry."

 _Oh my God, you two-faced snake,_ Hyde said, delighted. _Stealing poor Rachel's wolflet. She'll be heartbroken, you greedy bastard._

"Oh, yeah," said Jasper, a shy smile tugging at his mouth. "Sorry. Um. _Henry._ I know this is sort of personal, and I've really got no right to ask, but—where _were_ you last night?"

"Where any sane man would be at that hour," said Jekyll. "In bed. I got here as soon as I could, once I heard what was happening, but—not soon enough, unfortunately."

"Right, yeah, of course," said Jasper, and chuckled nervously. "I dunno why, I just thought—well, I just thought you stayed at the Society with all the lodgers. Silly, now that I think about it, hah."

"It's not at all silly," said Jekyll. "I've been known to spend the night there, and I certainly do keep a room for myself."

 _My, what big eyes he has~,_ Hyde cooed. Jekyll resisted the temptation to grind his teeth.

"Sure," said Jasper. "Makes loads of sense."

"Was that all?" Jekyll asked. "I don't mean to hurry you out, but things have gotten rather busy, and—"

"No no, of course, sorry, I really didn't mean to bother you," Jasper said, falling all over himself. "If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know, anything at all. After everything you've done for me, honestly, I'd be happy to."

 _Ooh, listen to that,_ said Hyde. _Think that silver tongue of yours could talk him into bed? You could do with a little unwinding. If he's anything like the_ _last_ _werewolf, I bet_ _his eyes aren't the_ _biggest thing_ _he's got~_

"Thank you, Jasper, but there's nothing for now," Jekyll said. Jasper winced at the annoyance in his voice, and Jekyll sighed, rubbing his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to speak so harshly. It's been a rough day."

"It's fine," said Jasper, mousily. "I'll leave you alone, I'm sure you're horrifically busy."

At the insistence of his conscience, Jekyll got up and crossed to Jasper, laid an avuncular hand on his arm.

"I am never too busy for you, Jasper," he said. "And I promise you, things aren't usually this . . . _exciting,_ here. Once all this business is taken care of, we'll get you properly settled in."

Jasper, slouching and awkward, looked up at Jekyll and smiled. The sincerity of it warmed him.

 _Kiss him,_ Hyde whispered. _Go on, come on, put that silver tongue to better use._

"Thanks, Dr—Henry," said Jasper, dropping his gaze and turning his face away. "Gosh, I just feel awful about all of this. Especially with the exposition coming up so soon."

Jekyll hooked a finger under his chin and gently lifted it for him.

"Chin up, dear boy," he said. "It's only a minor setback."

 _Do it do it do it do it do it,_ Hyde chanted, like a locomotive. _Come on, he's right there, the door's closed, no one will ever know!_

Jasper laughed nervously, extracting himself from Jekyll's hands. Jekyll couldn't deny that the rebuff stung, but he swallowed it before it could get onto his face. There was more than enough wine left to salve that particular wound. He folded his arms behind his back, cradling his elbows in his palms.

"Right," said Jasper. "Science . . . marches on!"

"Science marches on," Jekyll agreed. He opened the door for Jasper and stood aside. "Do take care, Jasper."

"I will," he said. "You too . . . Henry."

And with that he scurried out, still slouching abominably but with a notable spring in his step. Jekyll shut the door again.

 _My God, you've got it bad,_ Hyde said. He was lounging in the cabinet glass, chin propped on his laced fingers, kicking his feet like a schoolgirl. _Is it because he's naïve enough to take advantage of, or because he's desperate enough that he's easy to manipulate?_

"Mr. Kaylock is a promising young scientist and my interest in him is purely professional," Jekyll said, keeping his voice down. He went back to his desk and sat. The temptation to lay his head down and sleep was almost overwhelming.

 _Oh?_ said Hyde, eyes twinkling. _Just like your interest in ~me?~_

"The vast majority of my current interest in you is working out whether or not you can be _drowned,"_ Jekyll growled.

A breath of green smoke swirled lazily out of the open mouth of the wine bottle.

 _You can always try,_ Hyde invited.

Jekyll did not dignify this with a response. With rust in all his joints, he set about taking care of the least formidable stack of paperwork he could find.

 _You know what_ _I've_ _noticed about wee little Jasper?_ Hyde asked, unprompted.

"I am working," said Jekyll.

 _I've_ _noticed that wee little Jasper bears a ~striking~ resemblance to one spirit of London at night,_ Hyde oozed.

"He is _nothing_ like you," Jekyll snapped, before he could stop himself. It wouldn't have mattered much—Hyde would have heard him think it anyway—but at least he could have maintained a better semblance of composure.

 _My dear doctor, he is_ _everything_ _like me,_ said Hyde, grinning. _And what a foul Narcissus that paints you to be._ _Revolting_ _._

"Go _away,"_ Jekyll said, his voice trembling with the tension it took to restrain his fury.

_Why don't you make me? I was under the impression you could ~be rid of me~ any time you wanted. Or was that just another lie on the mound that hides your_ _ real _ _face from your so-called friends?_

"Is that a challenge?" Jekyll said darkly.

_Hah! As if you could ever get rid of me, even if you wanted to._

Jekyll turned his chair around to face Hyde where he lurked in the cabinet. His hand strayed to the top drawer, the locked drawer. His fingertips brushed the handle. Hyde flowed down like a river in flood and gripped his wrist with more strength than any phantom ought to have.

 _You wouldn't dare,_ he snarled.

Jekyll met his eyes—his own eyes, reflected in the glass of the cabinet.

"Wouldn't I?" he said softly.

_All your work would be lost. All your_ _pain, all your_ _desperate scrabbling at the walls would be for_ _ nothing _ _—_

"Science marches on," Jekyll said. "I don't have to be the one to carry it."

 _I'll burn your notes,_ Hyde threatened.

"Good," said Jekyll.

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved.

Hyde let go. Jekyll removed his hand from the locked drawer.

"Now if you don't mind," Jekyll said, turning back to his desk, "I've got to continue cleaning up your mess."

 _You won't last two days,_ Hyde hissed, and vanished.

Jekyll sat for a moment, basking in the silence. It was a small victory, but he'd take what he could get.

With slightly steadier hands, he poured himself a glass of wine and bent to the paperwork.


	2. Chapter 2

Lanyon took in Utterson's wine-flushed face and tipsy balance and folded his arms.

"I see your meeting with Jekyll went well," he remarked.

"It was a _very_ fine Claret," Utterson mumbled, flushing redder than the copious amounts of wine he had imbibed.

"He certainly has a handle on your weaknesses," said Lanyon. "I swear, sometimes it concerns me how the world would fare if that man ever _did_ go bad. Did you at least manage to wring something out of him before he set you afloat?"

"Only more excuses," said Utterson. "I dislike this, Lanyon. I dislike doing this. We oughtn't talk about him behind his—hic—back like this. We oughtn't be _scheming."_

"He's left us no other options," said Lanyon. "It was bad enough when there was nothing pressing going on. Now the Society's lost its funding, _and_ it's up in flames, and the whole city's _primed_ to rout us from our houses and homes thanks to that _horrific_ travesty of a play—I just don't know, Gabriel. I just don't know what's gotten into him! Did you know he told me he would _die_ for his science? He said so, in those exact words! It's not healthy, I'm telling you. It's unnatural!"

"Perhaps he's just . . . pressing back," said Utterson, who was apparently several sentences behind.

"Yes, but against _us,_ Gabriel? I've never known Jekyll to bristle like this about _anyone,_ least of all some—some—"

"Somebody," Utterson supplied helpfully.

"No, some _nobody_ like Hyde! Something is _afoot,_ and I won't have it."

"What is it you suspect is going on?" Utterson asked.

"I shudder to think!" said Lanyon. "And I _certainly_ don't feel I should say it aloud, God knows. Blackmail, of some sort, at best."

"Blackmail had—hic—occurred to me, as well," said Utterson. "But what could Jekyll have done, that would paint him into so tight a corner?"

"Haven't the foggiest," said Lanyon. "Knowing him, he'd sell his soul over any minor indiscretion, if it was dressed up enough."

"Oh, now," said Utterson, frowning.

"Gabriel, you and I both know that Henry is—well, he's always been a touch _dramatic_ _,"_ said Lanyon. "Whatever he's done, I'm sure he's inflated it to monstrous proportions and is convinced it will topple him and everything he cares about."

"If it's blackmail," said Utterson.

Lanyon pursed his lips and sighed through his nose.

"I must believe it is," he said.

"Why?" said Utterson. Lanyon pinned him with a needle-sharp glare.

"You really _have_ overdone it with the Claret," he said. "I hope you didn't treat Henry like this, otherwise he'll never speak to either of us again."

"He called you jealous," said Utterson.

 _"Jealous?"_ Lanyon cried. "Jealous, of that—that— _that?_ What on _earth_ have I to be jealous of? What nonsense, what poppycock, what—"

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Utterson muttered, fighting down a smile.

"Methinks the lawyer doth _drink_ too much," Lanyon retorted, although his face had gone hot.

 _"I_ think," said Utterson, rescuing Lanyon from further embarrassment, "that we're coming at this from the wrong side."

Lanyon folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, expectant. Utterson made a face, like he was trying to push his mustache up his nose.

"Well?" Lanyon prompted.

"Oh? Ah. Yes," said Utterson. "If Henry won't see sense, perhaps it makes sense to see Hyde."

"If Henry won't listen to reason, _that_ impertinent ape certainly won't," Lanyon sneered.

Utterson's eye twinkled.

"Perhaps it's the Claret talking," he said, "but I was considering being rather unreasonable."

Lanyon blinked. "My dear Gabriel," he said. "What _are_ you suggesting?"

"We're men of leverage, aren't we?" said Utterson.

"Ye-es," Lanyon said carefully.

"Then perhaps we can lever Hyde off of Jekyll," he said. "With, you know, a proper application of force."

Lanyon opened his mouth, then closed it.

"Mr. Utterson, somewhere under all that humorless wooden facade, you are a wicked man," he said, impressed.

Utterson shrugged.

"I'm a lawyer, Robert," he said mildly. "It's what we do."

Lanyon sat forward, rubbing his hands together.

"So," he said, "what's the plan? Threaten legal action? We could tell _him_ we plan to blame him for the fire, see if he skips town on his own cowardice."

"He might inform Henry, and _then_ we'd be in for it," said Utterson.

"Ugh, true," said Lanyon. "What did _you_ have in mind? Surely there's something we can threaten the man with. Counter-blackmail, eh? Someone like that, we'd find half a dozen worthy offenses in the past month!"

"No," Utterson said slowly, "no, I don't think that's quite the right tack, either."

"Well," said Lanyon, put off, "what's your idea, then?"

Utterson very nearly smiled.

"How wicked," he said, "would you find acceptable, in this circumstance?"

"Oh dear," Lanyon sighed.

* * *

 

Rachel was alerted to Jasper's presence by the snuffling. She poked her head under the counter and he froze, the big orange eyes staring up at her mournfully.

"D'you do that even when you're not all wolfy?" she asked.

"Uh," he said, looking about. He adjusted his hat. "Yeah, apparently."

"You weren't trying to look up my skirt, were you?" she asked, scowling.

"What?" Jasper cried, mortified. "No! No, no of course not, that—I—"

"Come out from there," Rachel said, offering him her hand. He took it, and she helped him out from under the counter. "I've got some fresh-cooked pork at the back if you want some of it."

Jasper swallowed, his nostrils twitching.

"Oh yes," he said, "that'd be very nice. Thank you. Honestly."

"Have at it," she said, bumping him with her hip. Jasper slunk off to the back of the kitchen, nearly doubled over in his slouch. She watched him go, biting back a smile.

"Fo," he said, around a mouthful of pork, "you've been around de Fofiety for a while, yeah?"

"A while, yeah," Rachel agreed. "Why?"

"Well, it'f juft. . . ." He swallowed. "I was just wondering, y'know. Does stuff like last night happen a lot, or. . . ?"

"Oh _God,_ no," said Rachel. "I mean, one or two explosions here or there, but definitely not the whole building up in flames. It's going to be hellish to get it all fixed."

"S'pose that's good news," said Jasper. "I've been avoiding going up there. Y'know, to see how bad it is. I managed to get all of my creatures out, and they're all fine—Christopher had a whale of a time, I'll tell you—but I'm a bit nervous about everything else."

"Aw, bless him," said Rachel. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Jasper. There's plenty of places that weren't even touched by the fire. The repair kraken did a grand job keeping the fires out of the chemistry labs, and then Mr. Luckett's actually very good at making sure his stuff doesn't blow up when it's not supposed to."

"Really? Wow!" said Jasper, sounding genuinely awed.

 _"Right?"_ said Rachel. "You wouldn't think it, being as he's on fire nearly all the time. Sometimes he's come to dinner on fire and the other lodgers have to put him out."

"By dumping water on his head?"

"Oh God, no," said Rachel, rolling her eyes. She turned to face Jasper and leaned against the counter, her arms folded. "We tried that once and it made everything about a thousand times worse. Usually it was just a load of people smacking him all over."

Jasper laughed. It was a lovely sound. He had a bit of pork grease dribbling down his chin.

"I can only imagine," he said. He scrunched up his face and added, "Say, I've been wondering."

"Yeah?"

"That Mr. Hyde—is he a lodger, too?"

"Oof, _well,"_ said Rachel, settling in for a good gossip. "Not as such, though by the amount he's in and out, you'd almost think so. He's not even a scientist, actually, although he's certainly a rogue."

"Fertainly," Jasper said, around another mouthful of pork. "He'f very. . . ."

"Excitable? Dramatic?" Rachel suggested. _Into playing matchmaker,_ she didn't say.

"Fort of," said Jasper. "D'you fink I'm gonna meet him?"

 _"Well,_ maybe," Rachel said cagily. She really hoped he didn't. Knowing Hyde, it would take less than a minute for him to get round to drenching the poor boy in unsubtle innuendoes. Specifically unsubtle innuendoes about _Rachel._

"He's not about much?" Jasper asked.

"No, all the time," said Rachel. "But he _is_ eccentric. Not on any sort of schedule or anything. He just—turns up whenever he feels like it, so far as I can tell. Sometimes Henry lets us know he'll be by, but not always."

"So what does he . . . _do?"_

"Mostly, make a nuisance of himself," Rachel said fondly. "He's a bit rough round the edges, but he's harmless. We all know he and Henry are, _you_ know." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"I—I don't know," said Jasper, looking lost.

 _"Youuuuu_ know," Rachel said, rolling her eyes and gesturing. "Sometimes we catch 'em wearing each other's clothes. Most mornings after Mr. Hyde's been by, Henry'll turn up looking like he hasn't slept all night. Nobody can work out any _real_ job Mr. Hyde does here— _you_ know."

"It sounds very odd," Jasper said earnestly, still looking lost.

"You're hopeless," Rachel sighed. "They're screwing, Jasper."

Jasper went positively _crimson._

"Oh!" he squeaked. "Oh, so—oh!"

"But _don't_ say anything about it in front of Henry," Rachel warned, wagging a finger at him. "You'll upset him. He'll deny it 'til he's blue in the face. He's horribly ashamed of himself, God only knows why. Nobody cares but him. I suppose he's mortified that his posh friends might find out."

"No, no, I wouldn't dream of it," said Jasper, raising greasy hands in surrender. "Of course not. Never. I just—I had no idea!"

"Fair enough, you've only been here, what, two days?" said Rachel. "You would've caught on. They don't make a terribly good secret of it, especially not Mr. Hyde."

"I see," said Jasper.

A silence descended. Rachel cast about desperately for something else to talk about.

"So where are your creatures staying now?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh." He rubbed his arm, smearing pork grease on his sleeve. "I've taken them back to the flat. My old flat. That I have here. In London. I'm staying there, too, while the—the Society's, um. . . ."

"Being reconstructed? Yeah, good plan," said Rachel.

There was another silence. Rachel considered if it might be worth it to pull a Hyde and jump straight out the window.

"Mostly I'm . . . stalling," Jasper admitted, his voice gone soft and sad. "I don't really want to go up there, because—what if it's all gone? What if my notes and everything have all burned up? I'll have nothing."

"W-well," said Rachel, unbalanced by this sudden display of genuine emotion. "I think loads of the lodgers are in the same place. Miss Lavender was inconsolable. She lost years of work."

"Oh, that's horrible," Jasper said, his face all scrunched up with pity. "She didn't have any copies of her notes, or anything?"

"She did, just . . . the copies got burnt up, too," said Rachel. "If Moreau weren't already dead, I think she'd draw and quarter him. I know _I_ would. What a bastard."

"Speaking of—what happened to Dr. Frankenstein and the monster?" Jasper asked. "D'you know? I sort of . . . lost track of them, in all the excitement."

"Me, too," Rachel sighed. "You wouldn't think you could lose an eight-foot-tall green thing with glowy eyes, but apparently you can if there's enough fire!"

"Hahah, yeah," said Jasper.

The silence descended for a third time. Rachel filled her cheeks up with air and bugged her eyes out. Jasper prodded another hunk of roast pork with one finger.

"So, er," said Jasper.

"Yeah," said Rachel. Her face had gone hot, sweat prickling down her sides.

"Mm-hm," said Jasper, who looked to be in much the same state.

"I could . . . come and help you look," Rachel offered hesitantly. "For your stuff. If you want."

"No, but, you're like, busy," he said. "Besides, I—I just feel like I should . . . it doesn't really take two people. Honestly."

He sniffed. Rachel was struck by a bolt of understanding.

"Right, sure," she said. "Just er, let me know if there's anything I can do?"

"I will," he said. He rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand. "Um, thanks for the pork. And—sorry about going under your table, I really didn't mean anything by it."

She waved him off, pretending as hard as she could that she wasn't blushing.

"It's fine!" she said. "Go on, go. And come back whenever you're done, I'll make you some more cookies."

He flashed a sheepish grin at her. "Thanks, Rachel," he said.

She shooed him out of the kitchen, scolding him the whole way. When he had gone, she planted her fists on her hips and shook her head.

"Honestly," she muttered to herself.

* * *

 

"This feels silly," Lanyon whispered.

"Shh," said Utterson.

"What are we _doing,_ Gabriel?"

 _"Shh!"_ he insisted.

"This is _ridiculous,"_ Lanyon went on anyway. "What if he doesn't come home? What if he's not in? We'll be standing about in the cold all _night,_ and for nothing! Making absolute pillocks of ourselves! We could have hired people to do this, you know. We'll be a laughingstock."

"If you keep chattering like a magpie," Utterson said.

"I am _not—_ chattering like a magpie! I am voicing legitimate concerns with this cockamamy plan!"

"You were all for it yesterday," Utterson pointed out. "A person might think you'd lost your nerve."

"I haven't lost my nerve, I've regained my senses!" Lanyon hissed back. "This is foolish! There are ten thousand better ways we could go about this than lurking in a dingy alleyway with the—the _riff-raff_ waiting about to do God knows what to God knows who—"

_"Ahem."_

Lanyon screamed and nearly jumped out of his skin. Utterson whirled. Jekyll was standing scarcely a few feet behind the two of them, arms folded neatly behind his back, impeccable and bright-eyed.

"Did my party invitation get lost in the mail?" he inquired, blinking placidly at the two of them.

Utterson started up a trundling mutter of half-formed excuses while Lanyon's face went hot.

"I, er, that is to say, _we_ were . . . hoping to run into you!" Lanyon said. "Yes, we—we thought perhaps you might come this way, and, er, we—we—we happened to be in the neighborhood, and—"

"And just so happened to stop, hidden behind several barrels in a back alleyway directly across the street from Mr. Hyde's lodging just after lunchtime," Jekyll finished for him, still utterly composed. "Yes, of course, happens all the time."

"I—well—well what are _you_ doing here, then?" Lanyon blustered.

"Me?" said Jekyll. "I was on my way to check in on Mr. Hyde. He has a copy of my notes, you see, which is seeming a fortuitous bit of foresight on my part at this juncture."

"Aha, and you're concerned he may attempt to use them for leverage!" Lanyon cried, seizing upon this most satisfactory of explanations.

"No," Jekyll said, baffled. "I simply would like to have my notes. I'm sure you can understand my concern for their well-being!"

"Why has he got a copy of your notes?" Utterson asked, apparently having overcome his attack of chagrin.

Jekyll turned to him, smiling pleasantly, in the way that many venomous and reptilian things smile.

"In case something were to happen to the originals," he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He softened somewhat. "My dear friends, I fear you are making this a far more dire business than it actually is. If it will ease your minds, why don't we all three go and see Mr. Hyde, together?"

"That—that sounds ideal," said Lanyon, taken aback. "Yes, I think that sounds like a most reasonable thing to do."

"Hm," said Utterson, fooling with the buttons on his coat.

All of the chill professionalism evaporated off of Jekyll on the instant, and he clapped both of them on the shoulder.

"Come along, then," he said. "We shall have to hope he is at home, otherwise all this silliness will have been for nothing."

Lanyon was tempted to shoot some barbed remark about Jekyll's not having a key to the place, but decided it was best left alone. Jekyll ushered them across the street, keeping his own head down as though he was embarrassed to be seen there. That, at least, seemed normal and sensible, even if nothing else about the business did.

They found their way to the landlady's door, whereupon Jekyll knocked and promptly folded his arms behind his back.

"Do you . . . call here often?" Lanyon hazarded, while they waited.

"Never once in my life!" Jekyll said brightly. "With any luck, she'll have no idea who I am."

Utterson shared a glance with Lanyon behind Jekyll's back. Lanyon made a face. Utterson shrugged. Lanyon tipped his head towards Jekyll in an encouraging gesture. Utterson scowled and shook his head.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman with steel gray hair poked her head out. She took one look at the three of them and started gleaming with mischief.

"Can I 'elp you?" she asked, then added slimily, "Sirs?"

"Yes, I was just wondering if Mr. Hyde was in," Jekyll said.

"Wot's it to you?" she said, looking him up and down.

Jekyll produced a bank note apparently out of thin air and held it out to her with two fingers. He never looked away from her face, and his smile never faltered.

"He's a friend of mine," he said.

She took the note.

"What sort of friend?"

Jekyll's smile went a bit stiff. He leaned in, ever so slightly.

"The sort, madam, who has brought his own lawyer," he said.

Dutifully, Utterson put on his most wooden and formidable face. The landlady fairly sparkled.

"'E's in trouble then, is 'e?" she said, gleeful.

"Ever so much trouble," Jekyll said sweetly.

"I'll see if 'e's in," the landlady declared, and promptly shoved past all three of them to stomp up the stairs.

"He seems a well-liked fellow," Lanyon said dryly. "What if he's not in?"

"Then doubtless, he shall soon know I was looking for him," Jekyll said. "The woman has _gossip_ written on every inch of her."

"And perhaps her room number was written somewhere on the entry," Utterson said. "I must have missed it. Good thing you didn't."

Jekyll froze, just for an instant. He turned to Utterson, a pitying smile on his face.

"My dear Gabriel," he said. "Mr. Hyde _has_ at least been courteous enough to give me instructions on how to find his landlady, should I need to contact him at home."

"Ah," said Utterson, flushing, twitching his mustache as though to sweep the words off his lips. "Yes. Of course."

Jekyll gave him a knowing look, but didn't say anything else.

The landlady soon returned to inform them that Mr. Hyde was not at home, nor had he been for several days. Jekyll thanked her, passed off another small bank note, and spoke very prettily at her until she grew visibly annoyed.

"All right, clear off," she said. "I en't got all day. If 'e gets back, 'oo should I say called?"

"Just tell him Henry would like to see him," Jekyll said. "Thank you."

The three of them took their leave, Lanyon and Utterson in the lead. It was with some relief that Lanyon hailed a cab and pointed the driver back towards cleaner streets.

"Ah, well," Jekyll said. "Perhaps we'll catch him next time. It was very lucky running into you two. I shouldn't have liked to go in there alone, hah hah."

"No, I should think _not,"_ said Lanyon. "At the very least, it's clear the setting is congruous with the man. I wouldn't have expected anything else but that den of—of hypocrisy. What are the odds he _was_ home, and simply didn't wish to see us? I imagine he fled at first mention of a lawyer, hmph!"

"Robert, honestly," Jekyll sighed, an amused smile playing over his lips.

"What?" said Lanyon. "After all the mischief he's caused? If we can't put the fear of lawyers into the man, he's fearless! Isn't that right, Gabriel? With any luck, he's skipped town altogether and we shall never hear from him again!"

"Henry," Utterson said slowly.

"Yes?" said Jekyll.

"No," Utterson said. He fixed Jekyll with a penetrating look. "He knows you by _Henry,_ does he?"

Again, just for an instant, Jekyll locked up, like an automaton that had slipped a gear. Again, he smoothed it over with condescension.

"He knows it's my name, yes," he said, laughing. "The last thing I wanted was to leave any sort of blemish on my reputation by bringing it to bear in a place like that. I'm certain Lanyon understands, don't you, Robert?"

"Ye-es," said Lanyon, "I suppose it's sensible enough."

"Of course it is," said Jekyll, and shook his head. "Honestly. Things are bad enough as they are."

The rest of the cab ride passed nearly in silence, until they were dropped off near Cavendish Square, where Lanyon resided and from where Utterson and Jekyll could easily walk home. Utterson paid the cabbie, handling the matter quietly, as though to keep from upsetting Jekyll. When the cab had driven away again, the three of them stood for a moment at the side of the road, hands in pockets against the cold.

"It's a shame," Utterson said, his breath fogging in front of his face, "we didn't manage to get your notes, Henry."

"Not such a shame," said Jekyll, waving him off. "There will be another time. I hardly fear for their safety, hah hah."

"Hardly," Lanyon said dryly. "I for one am rather disappointed we were unable to have our chat with Mr. Hyde."

"Likewise," Jekyll said, "I'm certain there will be another time." He took a breath and sighed it out. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must be getting back to the Society. Several of our lodgers are nigh inconsolable, and I worry what will happen if I leave them for too long."

"Of course," said Lanyon. "Take care, Henry."

"And you as well," said Jekyll, shaking his hand warmly. "Gabriel, you too."

"Hm," said Utterson. He turned to go, and Lanyon turned to go with him, hoping to sneak in a few words about the failure of their plan and the next steps they might take.

"Oh, and by the by. . . ."

Jekyll put a hand on the back of each of their heads, leaned in and spoke conspiratorially in their ears.

"You're not subtle _or_ clever," he said. "I know what you're up to, and my dearest, sweetest friends, I assure you, it is _completely unnecessary."_

He patted their heads, then turned on his heel and strode off, leaving only a whiff of peppermint behind him. Utterson and Lanyon shared a glance.

"Well," said Utterson.

"Indeed," said Lanyon.

"Damn," said Utterson.

"Quite," said Lanyon.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, Henry, thank God you're back," Mrs. Cantilupe said, darting up to him and taking him by the arm.

"What's happened now?" Jekyll said, heavy with resignation.

"It's the boy, the new boy, the werewolf boy," she said. Jekyll's heart plunged into his boots.

"Where is he?" he demanded. "What's happened? Is he hurt?"

"No—no," said Mrs. Cantilupe, frowning and baffled. "Nothing like that. I'm sorry, so sorry, I've made this sound so much worse than it is, it's only Miss Lavender has been all out of sorts all day and I've gone rather frazzled."

"Understandable," Jekyll said, fighting to keep the annoyance out of his voice. The episode with Lanyon and Utterson had left him shaken, stretched thin. "Would you mind telling me what the problem _is,_ then?"

"Yes, of course," said Mrs. Cantilupe, gesturing to the still-smoldering Society. "He went in looking for his things about an hour ago. He hasn't come out yet. We none of us really knew what to do. We were hoping you might show up, as you're the most—most _friendly_ with the poor boy. He may be in dire need of some consoling."

"It seems a common condition," said Jekyll, his eyes roving over the ruins of the building. As he watched, Miss Lavender came shuffling from the hole where the main entrance used to be. Mrs. Cantilupe broke away from Jekyll immediately and went to her.

"How is it, dear?" she asked, taking Miss Lavender's sooty hands. Miss Lavender shook her head.

"Everything's gone," she said, hollow-voiced. "Smoke inhalation, by the looks of it. Every last specimen. All the cages still locked up tight."

Mrs. Cantilupe shut her eyes, the lines on her face deepening. She squeezed Miss Lavender's hands.

"Poor things," she said. "Poor, poor things. We did all we could, Mary."

"No notes," Miss Lavender said, her voice thickening, "no specimens, no building—we're ruined, Tammy. It's over."

"Absolutely _not,"_ Mrs. Cantilupe sniffed, lifting her chin. "We've been set back, that's all. We've still published papers, have we not? We've still got our brains, have we not? It's nothing a bit of time and money won't fix! Chin up, dear girl, it's not like we're dead."

Miss Lavender attempted a smile and failed. She sniffled. Jekyll sidled over and offered his handkerchief.

"I am terribly sorry, Miss Lavender," he said.

"Oh, it's not your fault," she said, taking his handkerchief and wiping the tears and soot from her face. A pang shot through Jekyll's chest like an arrow, poison-tipped.

"In some ways, I rather feel it is," he said.

Miss Lavender shook her head. "You couldn't possibly have known."

"If I had been here—"

"You might have gotten blown up," Mrs. Cantilupe interrupted. "Dr. Frankenstein's monster was looking particularly for _you._ I imagine Moreau would have taken issue with your continued survival."

"Hah hah, yes, well," said Jekyll, unnerved. "In that vein, do either of you happen to know where the esteemed doctor wound up?"

"I took charge of her, briefly," Miss Lavender said. "The creature asked me to get her somewhere safe. I . . . was under the impression, at that time, that the Society was safe enough, so I brought her to one of the guest rooms."

Jekyll's joints rusted through, locking him in place. He couldn't breathe.

"Is she—oh, dear God, don't tell me she—"

"No, no, she's alive!" Miss Lavender said hurriedly, flapping her hands. "I went back for her as soon as the fire started. The creature, too. I handed her off and he—well, I don't know where he went with her. Very far away, I should hope."

"Ah," said Jekyll, deflating. "Well, so. Back to square one, it seems."

"It's probably for the best," said Mrs. Cantilupe, patting Jekyll's shoulder. "Why don't you see if you can find young Mr. Kaylock, Henry?"

"Oh, hell, I _was_ supposed to be doing that!" he exclaimed, hitting himself in the head. "I'm terribly sorry, ladies, I must see to him."

"He's in the foyer," Miss Lavender said. She gave Jekyll's handkerchief back to him. "Can't miss him."

"Thank you," said Jekyll. "And, again, I am so incredibly sorry about all of this."

"And, again, it's still not your fault!" Mrs. Cantilupe sang. She shooed him away, pushing him in the back with both hands until he was suitably in motion. The moment he was out of sight, he had to stop and lean against a wall. There were sparks swimming before his eyes. Every bone in his body ached. A throbbing pain had awoken behind his left eyebrow and wouldn't go away.

"I can't do this," he whispered, breathless. "I can't keep doing this."

No one, not even Hyde, contradicted him.

* * *

 

Jekyll found Jasper sitting on a charred bench at the side of the foyer, sooty and downcast, staring into space. He was turning a stick of charcoal in his hands. Jekyll approached carefully, cold coals crunching under his shoes, his arms folded behind his back. He tilted sideways at the waist, trying to get into Jasper's line of sight without directly confronting him.

"Ahem," he said softly. Jasper looked up, and Jekyll smiled. "Mind if I join you?"

"Oh," said Jasper, hollow-voiced. His face was stained with tears, clear tracks cut through the soot and ash. He turned his eyes back to the wreckage. "Sure. Go ahead."

Carefully, Jekyll perched on the bench next to Jasper. He sighed, clasping his hands and leaning his elbows on his knees.

"It's a mess," he said, surveying the wreckage. "Nothing a bit of time and a great deal of money won't fix, though, hah hah."

Jasper said nothing. Jekyll looked over at him. He was still turning that stick of coal in his hand. Upon closer examination, he could see that it was the spine of a book. His heart dropped.

"Well," he amended. "Perhaps . . . _some_ things time and money can't fix."

Jasper sniffled and swallowed, his throat bobbing. Jekyll looked away hurriedly and cleared his throat.

"If it helps," he went on, "I think most of us are in the same boat. Many notebooks died this day, and—oh dear God, your creatures, I completely forgot! Are they—"

"They're fine," Jasper said. "I managed to get them out in time."

"Well, thank _God_ for that," said Jekyll, pressing a hand to his chest as he deflated.

"Yeah," Jasper said dully. "Small blessings, right?"

Jekyll made the mistake of glancing at him again. He sat up straighter and gripped his own knees with his hands, perhaps tighter than was necessary.

"A rather large blessing, for them," he said. "I would imagine."

"It's just—" Jasper began, and broke off. When he spoke again, he had wrestled himself under better control. "It's just, I worked so hard on it. It had everything in it. I feel like it's all I had, really. The only thing that made me a real scientist. Now it's gone, I'm just. . . ."

"A scientist without a notebook," said Jekyll. "Things like this happen. It's a tragedy, yes, of course, but it's far from a catastrophe. It's only a setback. We'll recover."

"I guess," said Jasper, sounding more miserable than ever.

Jekyll reached out to touch him. He hesitated. His fingers twitched. Gently, he laid his hand on Jasper's thigh.

"I am so, terrifically sorry about all of this, Jasper," he said gently. "I can't help but feel I'm responsible for the loss of your work. If I hadn't brought you here. . . ."

Jasper looked up at him, huge eyes full of compassion. Jekyll's breath caught.

"Oh no, Dr—er, Henry," he said. "No, you couldn't've known. I loved being here, I really did. It was incredible. Even just a couple of days, it was more than I could ever've hoped for."

Jekyll swallowed. He managed a smile. He patted Jasper's leg and folded his hands back in his own lap. If he clenched them, it was only because it was cold out.

"Still," he said. "I could have brought you back to your farm, or your flat, or—set you up anywhere else, actually—and you'd still have your notes. I do feel at least partially responsible."

 _Wholly,_ he thought, unless it was Hyde hissing it in his ear.

"We're all a bit responsible, I think," said Jasper. "And I really am grateful, for what you did. I might be dead, if it weren't for you."

"Well," said Jekyll, a pleasant heat welling in his chest. "Well, it—it's my . . . duty. To—rescue my fellow scientists from the . . . the vicious masses."

Jasper touched his arm, ever so gently. It was all Jekyll could do not to lean into it. He focused on breathing instead.

"Still," said Jasper. "Thanks."

"Ah," said Jekyll. "My pleasure."

There was a moment. Jekyll rubbed his hands together. Jasper watched him, too closely, too attentively. This part of the Society was now fairly open, easily visible to passers-by. Jekyll's breath fogged the air in front of him.

"So," Jekyll said, before the silence stretched too thin. "I hear you and Miss Rachel are getting on famously."

"Y-yeah," said Jasper, blushing and rubbing the back of his head. "Sort of. She—yeah."

"Good," said Jekyll. "It's always nice for you young people to get to . . . ah, what's the word, not _fraternize_ with each other, but—"

 _"Young people?"_ Jasper said, dubious. "We're not _that_ much younger than you, even."

"N-no, well, perhaps not," said Jekyll. It just kept getting _worse._ "The—the gap may appear larger from the . . . the higher side."

Jasper made a face. He sniffled, then shivered, then sat up suddenly and hit himself in the forehead.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I've just remembered—I never gave you back your coat."

"Ah? Ah, yes, I had—I had forgotten all about it, hah hah," said Jekyll, while his heart turned somersaults. "Clearly I haven't missed it terribly."

"Still, I feel like I ought to give it back," said Jasper. "Assuming it hasn't been burnt up with everything else. It's probably still in my room, if you want to come help me look. I'm pretty sure I ran across it while I was . . . looking for other stuff."

"I'd be happy to," said Jekyll, and just barely resisted the impulse to punch himself.

"Grand," said Jasper, getting to his feet. "Thanks."

"Of course," said Jekyll, rising as well.

Jasper started off through the burned wreckage, and Jekyll flailed uselessly.

 _"Stupid idea,"_ he hissed, whacking himself in the head with the heel of his palm. _"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"_

"Henry?" Jasper said.

"Yes, sorry, right behind you!" Jekyll called back. He scurried after Jasper, still cursing himself under his breath.

The search was cursory, and yielded surprisingly good fruit. They'd barely been at it for a minute when Jasper crowed out a triumphant _Aha!_ and came up with Jekyll's overcoat. It was a bit singed at the edges, but otherwise appeared intact.

"Very good, very good," said Jekyll, already edging towards the door. This room was totally closed off from prying eyes. His hands were sweating, despite the cold.

"Here, I'll just—" Jasper said.

Before Jekyll could stop him, he'd crossed the room in two lanky, unslouching strides and swirled the coat around Jekyll's shoulders. His fingers brushed Jekyll's throat as he fastened the clasp.

"So you don't catch your death," Jasper said, smiling. The smudges of soot on his face were really rather fetching. He was standing very close. Drawn up to his full height, he had a good three inches on Jekyll, at least.

"Goodness, you're tall," Jekyll said faintly, looking up into Jasper's face.

"Uh?" said Jasper, blinking down at him. His hands had paused on the clasp, a mere hair's breadth from Jekyll's throat. His eyes were like honey, and Jekyll found he couldn't look away. One hand started sneaking up towards Jasper's face. Jekyll redirected it and gingerly removed Jasper's hands from the coat's clasp.

"I, er, I appreciate it," said Jekyll. There wasn't enough air in the room. It was suddenly too warm for the coat.

"Right," said Jasper, spellbound. "Your . . . hands are cold."

"Are they?" said Jekyll, a squeak in his voice. "Ahah, well, you know what they say! Cold hands, warm heart."

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Jekyll pushed Jasper's hands farther away and released them carefully, then backed up a step.

"Good," he said. "Well."

"Right," said Jasper, slouching down and rubbing the back of his head.

"Yes," said Jekyll. He turned to go, shaking right down to his bones, buzzing with tension.

"Henry," Jasper blurted. A warm hand caught Jekyll's, pulled him to a stop and turned him back. They hung suspended in space, colored glass and candle smoke, hand in hand, and Jekyll's resolve unraveled.

"Oh, _hell,"_ he murmured.

He cupped Jasper's cheek in his hand and kissed him.

It was easy as breathing, as the first breath after a breath too long held. He tasted of roast pork and mead, his hair was coarse and tangled, his skin warm. His hand was tight on Jekyll's, his spine stiff despite the sheepish sway of his balance. Overwhelmed, Jekyll broke off, bowing his head, trying to find the air to breathe. Jasper kept swaying, like he was dizzy, like he had just come off a long sea voyage.

The reality of what he'd just done settled onto Jekyll's shoulders like a mass of chains. He staggered back, nearly tripping over himself. Jasper was standing there stunned, his eyes wide and unfocused.

"I—I'm sorry," Jekyll stammered. "I'm so sorry, I—oh God—"

Jasper blinked a couple of times, lips still parted. He drew a breath as though to speak.

Jekyll fled before he could.

* * *

 

 _You devil!_ Hyde cackled, turning Catherine-wheel somersaults in the cheval glass. _You absolute bastard! Two days, I told you so!_

"Shut up," Jekyll hissed, his back pressed to the door. He hadn't stopped shaking. He was going to be sick.

 _You could've been me,_ Hyde said, grinning ear to ear. _Then none of this would be any problem at all._ _Nobody bats an eye if_ _horrible_ _Mr. Hyde sinks his nasty claws into the wolflet, but_ ** _you!_** _You who was supposed to be his mentor, you who's supposed to be the very picture of propriety! They'll never stop talking about it._ _Poor_ _poor_ _Dr. Jekyll, you've really screwed the pooch this time! Almost literally, hah~_

"Shut _up,"_ he snapped, stalking to his desk. Hyde followed him, cartwheeling across every reflective surface.

 _Rachel's going to_ _hate_ _you,_ Hyde said. _Oh, she's just going to_ _despise_ _you. And Jasper! Do you think that silver tongue of yours gave our little werewolf any nasty burns?_ _Maybe it's for the best things didn't go any farther, eh?_

"Be _quiet,_ you disgusting creature," Jekyll said, his lip curling.

 _But I'm_ _your_ _disgusting creature,_ Hyde said. _This is what happens when you try to keep me down, dear doctor_ _. I did tell you so~_

"This has _nothing_ to do with you," Jekyll said tightly.

 _This has_ _everything_ _to do with me,_ Hyde purred. _All that shit you bottle up has to get out somewhere, and you've lost the knack of holding it in. Face it, you_ _need_ _me. You need to_ _be_ _me. You're too weak to make it on your own._

"These are exceptional circumstances," he replied through clenched teeth. "It will not always be this hard, and you are _purposefully_ making it harder!"

_Only thing_ _I_ _saw getting harder was your—_

The snarl that tore from Jekyll's throat tasted of blood. His fist smashed through Hyde's grinning phantom face. Glass shattered on the floor.

In the silence that followed, the pain came slowly, drop by drop, like the blood that fell from Jekyll's hand to the floor. He subsided into his chair, staring at the shards of glass embedded in his flesh. The rage drained away, leaving him hollow and soot-stained, his insides grimed with coal dust. He was too tired to move. He was too tired to do anything but stare at the blood dripping from his hand.

There was a knock at the door. He didn't answer. They entered anyway.

"Oh, good heavens," Poole twittered, bustling over to Jekyll's side. "Oh, dear, what on earth has happened?"

"Nothing, Poole," Jekyll said, his lips and tongue numb, his words mushy. "It's nothing."

"My goodness, that looks nasty," Poole said anyway, gingerly taking Jekyll's bleeding hand in both of his own. "You need a doctor, and right away!"

"I am a doctor," said Jekyll. He could barely hear his own voice.

"A different _sort_ of doctor, you know what I meant!"

"It doesn't hurt, Poole," he murmured, vague.

Poole narrowed his watery blue eyes at Jekyll.

"Dr. Jekyll," he said. "Are you drunk, sir?"

"No, no Poole, no," he mumbled. "Just tired. I'm very tired, Poole. There's been no time. . . ."

Poole set his jaw and pursed his wrinkled lips. He took Jekyll by the elbows and coaxed him to his feet.

"Up you get, sir, up-up," he said. "Here, take my kerchief, we'll wrap up that hand. I'll not have you bleeding all over my floors, sir, that will be a nightmare and a half to clean up. There you are, wrapped up nice and tight, now let's go down to the parlor, you could use some sunlight. That's right, one foot after another, easy does it. . . ."

Poole coaxed him along, and Jekyll followed without putting up any resistance. His mind was mired in fog. Somehow they came to the parlor, and then someone foisted a glass into his uninjured hand, wrapped his fingers around it for him. There was talk of calling for a doctor. A shard of clarity pierced Jekyll's mind, like a shaft of sunlight through the fog.

"I can tend to it myself," he objected.

"No, sir, no you cannot," Poole said, and that was the end of that.

To Jekyll's great chagrin, it was Lanyon they sent for, and Lanyon who turned up all tutting and bustle to pick the glass shards out of Jekyll's hand.

"Oh, good heavens, Henry, what on earth have you done?" he exclaimed, upon seeing the bloodied mess beneath Poole's (ruined) kerchief.

"Ah," said Jekyll. A roll of the eyes, a self-deprecating smile. "I suppose I . . . tripped, or something. I still haven't slept, you know, hah hah. One does—one does get rather clumsy, I'm afraid."

 _"Well!"_ said Lanyon. "As your doctor, I am prescribing a full night's sleep at once, and _don't_ argue with me, Henry, don't even _think_ of arguing with me. This madness has gone on long enough, and you will sleep, or so help me, I will knock you over the head!"

Jekyll almost laughed.

"All right, Robert," he said. "As I am now apparently your patient, I will be a good patient and take my doctor's orders."

"Too right you will," Lanyon sniffed. He gripped Jekyll's wrist in one hand and brought up a pair of thin metal forceps with the other, which he then used to gesticulate to Jekyll's other hand. "Drink that whiskey they've given you, it will help with the pain. _And_ with the sleeping."

"Is that a prescription?" Jekyll asked, teasing. "Forty cc's of whiskey, to be taken by mouth before bedtime?"

"Henry, please," Lanyon said, and there was a heaviness in his voice that Jekyll had rarely heard. He kept his eyes lowered, focused on his work as he picked the glass out of Jekyll's hand. "I know that for you, this must be merely unpleasant, but. . . ."

Jekyll winced as an inch-long sliver of glass slid out from between two knuckles. Lanyon deposited it in an ash tray Poole had provided. Jekyll did not interrupt, taking in Lanyon's frown, the tension of his jaw and shoulders, the tightness of his hand on his wrist.

"But you're scaring me, Henry," Lanyon said softly.

"Robert," Jekyll said. "It was an accident. These things happen. Perhaps I have . . . neglected my own personal needs in favor of those of the Society, but honestly! These are extreme circumstances. Things aren't so dire as all that. You're making mountains out of molehills, my dear friend."

Lanyon pursed his lips and nodded. He picked a few more bits of glass out of Jekyll's hand, then spent some time turning it back and forth, looking for bits that had escaped him. Jekyll, desperate to do at least _one_ thing right today, drank his whiskey as he had been instructed. The pain was starting to filter back in as the fog in his head cleared. The only option seemed to be to re-fog his mind until it went away again.

"Feel like there's any left in there?" Lanyon asked.

Jekyll flexed his hand carefully, wincing.

"I don't think so," he said. "If there are, I'm sure they'll make themselves known sooner or later."

"I'm sure," said Lanyon. He raised his head and called, "Poole! Oh, Poole!"

"Yes, sir?" Poole said, materializing at Lanyon's side.

"Could you top up Dr. Jekyll's glass for him, please? I'm afraid I shall need to give him a few stitches, and I don't think he's sufficiently benumbed."

"Of course, sir," said Poole. With a delicate half-bow, he excused himself and shortly returned to refill Jekyll's glass.

"Honestly, it's not so bad as you're making it out to be- _eeeee!"_

A flailed foot nearly caught Lanyon in the face. The red-hot poker of pain withdrew from Jekyll's knuckle, where it had stabbed in and given the lie to his assurances. Jekyll glared at Lanyon, who, if he hadn't known better, he would have said looked pleased with himself.

"You were saying, Henry?" Lanyon said placidly.

"Oh, give me the damned whiskey," Jekyll grumbled.

"Yes, sir," said Poole, who was _definitely_ pleased with himself, and should have known better.

"You are both of you insufferable," said Jekyll.

"Take your medicine, Henry," Lanyon scolded.

"I will get you back for this," Jekyll vowed. "I will have my vengeance."

"Of course you will," Lanyon said, patting his wrist. "Once you've slept a full eight hours, and not a second less."

Jekyll grumbled into his whiskey, but did not object further.


	4. Chapter 4

Jasper had been thinking for a long time. Actually, he had been thinking the same thought, over and over and over again. It had not gotten him very far. He was still in the burnt-out husk of his room. He had managed to sit down on the bed, only because he felt his knees wouldn't hold him.

The thought was, _Oh dear._

In fairness, it had gone through just about every conceivable permutation of tone, from flustered to frightened to despondent to delighted, round and round, back and forth, up, down, and sideways. His lips were still tingling. His face was still hot. His stomach was still slimy with shame. Rachel would be expecting him back at some point. She would notice immediately that something had happened. He would have to explain. There was no question of lying to her. She would know. She would know and she would be gravely wounded by it.

Oh dear.

Then there was Mr. Hyde to worry about, that manic man of mystery who had so gleefully whipped up the Society into a frenzy, so eagerly led the charge of violence against Moreau. He had, technically, saved Jasper's life last night, bringing down the creature that was out for his blood, but the action had seemed somehow removed from Jasper's existence. Hyde had killed the thing because it had been conveniently within killing range, and instantly afterwards had forgotten about both it and Jasper in favor of bigger game. Was he a jealous man? A dangerous man? He'd certainly seemed to take a vicious joy in violence. If Jekyll's face in the immediate aftermath had been anything to judge by, he certainly wouldn't be a happy one.

Oh dear.

Jasper could still faintly smell the peppermint, especially when he closed his eyes. He could taste it lingering on his lips. A phantom handprint glowed on his face, phantom fingers gripping his own, strong and comely and impeccably graceful. He shivered at the heat in his chest. He shrank from his own mortifying awkwardness, looming up malformed and wolfish in his memory. What an ass he'd been, what a blind fool! And poor Jekyll, poor brilliant incredible Henry, doing his level best to maintain his impossible professionalism, so stunningly captivated, so beautifully enraptured, by _him,_ by _him,_ by ordinary, gangling, clueless _Jasper!_

Oh dear.

Jasper put his face in his hands. Every inch of him was squirming, pulled between extremes of guilt and fear and heady jubilation. It was too good to be true. It was too terrible to be real.

It was a damned difficult position to be in.

He laughed into his hands, because it was either that or cry, and he'd done his crying for the day. He also considered screaming, but that might have worried someone, or worse, drawn attention. The last thing he needed was someone walking in on him like this, asking him what was wrong.

Right on cue, there was a knock at his door.

Oh dear.

"Mm-hm?" Jasper squeaked, unable to lift his face from his hands due to the abominable blush coloring his cheeks. He heard the door squeak open.

"Mr. Kaylock?" Dr. Bryson said. "My dear boy, is everything all right?"

He shook his head. Pretty much nothing was all right. At least he was being honest.

"Should I . . . pretend I never saw you?" Bryson asked. "I am adept at pretending I never saw things. For example, I have already pretended not to see someone else fleeing very urgently away from this very same room."

Jasper fervently wished he could evaporate on the spot. It just kept getting worse.

"I shall take your distressed silence to mean that I should make a quiet exit," Bryson said.

"No," Jasper blurted. The last thing he wanted was to be left alone with his thoughts any longer. He might simply come apart, shredded from within by the opposing stresses.

"Ah," said Bryson. Footsteps crunched in the ash, and the door squeaked closed. "May I sit with you?"

Jasper nodded. Bryson settled in near him, but not too near. For a moment, Jasper had a sudden, striking, stupid vision of what might happen if _Bryson_ tried to kiss him. It was so incongruous it almost made him laugh. What came out instead was closer to a sob.

"I'll be very quiet," Bryson promised, "unless you would like me to talk. Otherwise, I am here to listen, if there's anything that needs to be said."

Sniffling, Jasper managed to pry his face far enough out of his hands to speak.

"It's just," he said, "how d'you tell a girl you _know_ has got a—a thing for you that you've kissed someone else?"

Bryson took a long breath through his nose, then sighed it back out.

"Well," he said. "Honesty is, as ever, the best policy, but its best implementation is via _tact,_ which is a significantly more difficult proposition."

Jasper looked up at him, shocked more by his composure than anything.

"I . . . I s'pose," he said. "But I don't even know where to start."

"Have any . . . _promises_ been made?" Bryson asked. "Any exchanges of . . . shall we say exclusive implications? With either party?"

"Well," said Jasper, rubbing the back of his neck, "no, not exactly. Not at all, really. It's been pretty obvious, though. From—from both sides. Both the girl and me, I mean."

Bryson nodded sagely. "And would you like to continue this courtship?"

Flushing, Jasper shrugged, squirming under the frankness of the question.

"Y-yeah," he said. "I think I might. Yeah."

"And with the . . . interloping party?"

The blush became furnace-hot.

"I . . . I dunno," he admitted. "I don't guess so. I think probably not."

"Ah, wonderful," said Bryson. He nudged Jasper with an elbow. "Open with that."

Jasper cracked a smile, then rubbed it off his face. He sniffled.

"What if she hates me, though?" he said.

"Then I suppose she will hate you, and that is her prerogative," said Bryson. "Thus far, from what you've said, you've been perhaps . . . _unwise,_ but certainly not dishonest. The one is forgivable. The other, less so. Whether or not she chooses to forgive it is entirely up to her. The most that you can do is bring whatever you have to the table, and allow her to bring what she has, and if the two should happen to meet in the middle, then—wonderful! And if not . . . well, at least you've not wasted much time."

Jasper chewed his lip. Bryson nudged him again.

"Try not to go into it with any hypotheses," he suggested. "It isn't science, and if you treat it like it is, you will make things _infinitely_ worse."

"I can't even imagine," Jasper said, shaking his head.

"And if it all goes _immensely_ wrong, you can always flee the country," Bryson offered. "I'll loan you a balloon."

Jasper cracked up again. Bryson chuckled.

"Dr. Bryson?" Jasper said. "How d'you—sorry, not to sound rude or anything, but how d'you _know_ all this?"

Bryson raised his eyebrows.

"Mr. Kaylock," he said. "Do you think I've never had any girl troubles in my thus-far storied life?"

"I—well," said Jasper, thrown for a loop. "Yeah. I sort of figured everybody at the Society was . . . a bit detached from all that stuff. Embarrassed at best, or clueless at worst, or just too busy for it. At least too busy for my— _my_ girl troubles."

"My dear boy," said Bryson, shaking his head. He gestured expansively. "Life is a vast, complex, messy sort of a thing. It would be _impossibly_ hard if any of us tried to face it alone. And it would be unbearably _dull_ if we attempted to devote ourselves entirely to our science. We've got to do silly, stupid, unwise, ugly things from time to time, whether they involve girls or otherwise. It's what keeps us on the near side of _mad."_

"I guess," said Jasper. "Seems like things might be a lot simpler if it was just science."

"The only things in this vast and awesome cosmos that seem simple are things we don't understand," said Bryson. "Sometimes you learn a great deal more by getting it wrong than you do by getting it right, in life as in science. Sometimes mistakes are necessary to make any progress whatsoever. Sometimes, Mr. Kaylock, you've simply got to _royally screw up."_

Jasper snorted. A glob of snot came out of his nose and splattered across his mouth, and he hurriedly hid it behind his hand, mortified. Bryson handed him his handkerchief.

"Thanks," Jasper mumbled, wiping his face. "Sorry."

"I have over forty of them," Bryson said. "For just such occasions. You can return it at your convenience, preferably at a moment of significant symmetry."

"I'll keep an eye out," Jasper promised. "Um. Thank you."

"I do it all the time," Bryson confided. "You're right, most of the people here have all the emotional competency of a teaspoon. It's something about Jekyll, I'd wager. Like seeking out like, you know?"

At mention of Jekyll's name, Jasper went hot all over, burning from his scalp to his toes. He bit his lip to push the tingling out of it. It was a wonder his ears didn't spontaneously combust.

"Mm," he said. Bryson raised an eyebrow at him, but then judiciously looked away.

"You're welcome," he said. "And best of luck, my boy. Take care of yourself."

"Mm-hm," said Jasper.

With a final sympathetic wince and a pat on the shoulder, Bryson left him, shutting the door quietly behind him. Jasper put his face back in his hands.

"Bollocks," he mumbled.

* * *

 

It took far more whiskey than Lanyon would have expected for Jekyll to pass out in his chair, and he was loath to help Poole carry him up to bed for fear it might wake him. His apprehension proved baseless, however—Jekyll was sleeping the sleep of the dead, and Lanyon could probably have amputated one of his fingers without waking him. Nonetheless, he insisted on staying with him, at least for the first few hours, in case of complications.

"Complications, sir?" Poole said, frowning.

"The man hasn't slept in days and he's got eight drinks down him, Poole," Lanyon said. "Eight drinks _at least,_ because I don't know that I believe his _accident_ explanation, and he _has_ been known to indulge in a bit of solitary wining in the dark."

Poole made a constipated expression and avoided looking at either of them.

"Very good, sir," said Poole.

Lanyon narrowed his eyes and folded his arms.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Poole?" he asked.

"I shouldn't, sir, it's beyond my station," said Poole.

"I'm asking you to," Lanyon said. He added, more softly, "Please."

Poole fidgeted for a moment more before hanging his head.

"I heard some sort of . . . argument," Poole admitted. "Between Dr. Jekyll and—well, someone. It was brief, but very heated. That's why I came to check on him, sir. I heard raised voices and then the shattering of glass."

"My God, who was it with?" Lanyon demanded.

"I'm afraid I don't know, sir," Poole replied, shrugging. "He was alone when I found him. I never heard the other voice, only Dr. Jekyll's. I thought it very strange, sir, very strange indeed, being that—well, only a few moments had passed, between when I heard the glass shattering and when I let myself in. I was very concerned, you see, otherwise I would never have barged in the way I did, sir. I was concerned Dr. Jekyll might have been injured in some sort of—altercation. But there was no one there, sir, not a soul, just Dr. Jekyll sitting in his chair and the front of his cabinet smashed. He was nearly insensible, sir."

"What do you mean, _insensible?"_ Lanyon asked. "Don't spare me the details, Poole, I _am_ acting as his doctor now."

"Well, sir, it was this way," said Poole, uncomfortable. "I thought at first he had hit his head, sir, or something of the sort. He had that look about him. Dazed, sir, mumbling all his words and speaking mainly nonsense. When I saw no obvious wound, I thought perhaps he'd been at the drink, sir, as you mentioned, but there was no smell of it on him at all, and no opened bottles anywhere that I could see. I don't know what had come over him, sir, but I know it didn't come away again until you arrived, and if I may, sir, I'm very glad it did. I didn't dare to ask him who he'd been arguing with. I was afraid he might. . . ."

Poole trailed off, leaving endless implications hanging in the air like yellow London fog. Lanyon looked back at Jekyll. He was lying on his side just as they'd left him, his hair mussed, his limbs askew. There were dark, blue-gray circles around his eyes. His cheeks were still flushed with drink, his nose red. Blood had seeped through the bandages on his hand, rusty and spotted.

He didn't _look_ mad. He looked exhausted, worn through, used up, and drunk, but he didn't look mad.

Lanyon wondered if he really knew what madness looked like. He swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth and turned back to Poole.

"I imagine we shall have the truth out of him when he wakes up," he said. "In the mean time, it's best to let him sleep it off. Do try and keep the rest of the house quiet, would you Poole?"

"Of course, sir," Poole said, sketching his little half-bow.

"Good man," said Lanyon. "Off you go!"

Poole took his leave graciously. It became so quiet in his wake that Lanyon could hear Jekyll's breathing, slow and deep and steady. Carefully, Lanyon brought the room's chair to the bedside and settled into it. With one hand, he smoothed the hair back from Jekyll's forehead, as gentle as he could be.

"Oh, Henry," he sighed, an iron fist around his heart. "What am I to do with you?"

Jekyll made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Lanyon froze, two knuckles deep in his hair and _petrified._

"Henry?" he squeaked.

"Mm," Jekyll said, without moving.

"Are you . . . awake?" Lanyon hazarded.

Jekyll did not respond, apart from a minor twitch of the face. Lanyon relaxed, and continued running his fingers through Jekyll's hair.

"Dreaming," Jekyll mumbled, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Lanyon could have slapped him. "Clearly."

"Clearly," said Lanyon, equal parts annoyed and charmed. "Pleasant dreams, Henry?"

"Mm," Jekyll said again, shifting in his bed, leaning his head ever so slightly into Lanyon's hand. Lanyon rolled his eyes and carried on petting his hair, which was very soft.

For a time, this pleasant state of affairs continued on uninterrupted. Just as Lanyon was beginning to wonder if Jekyll had fallen back to sleep, he mumbled out something else.

"Always thought you had very attractive hands, Robert," he said.

 _"You_ are still drunk," Lanyon said, quickly muffling every other thought and feeling that threatened to well up.

"Dreaming," Jekyll corrected. Lanyon's fingers brushed a particular spot behind his ear and he melted. One amber eye cracked open and regarded Lanyon with catlike bliss.

"There is to be _no_ dreaming with your eyes open," Lanyon scolded, yanking his hand back.

Jekyll's mouth curled into a smile and his eye drifted closed again.

"Dearest Robert," he sighed.

If there was meant to be anything else, it never came. Lanyon waited for several minutes, but it seemed that Jekyll really had dropped off again. Lanyon sat back and sighed, shaking his head.

"You poor fool," he murmured.

He wasn't sure if he was talking to Jekyll or to himself.

* * *

 

"Um."

Rachel looked up. Jasper was hunching in the doorway, rubbing his arm, staring at his feet.

"Oh, no," she said. "That looks like bad news."

"Um, sort of," he said. He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Well, the _good_ news is, I've made cookies!" Rachel said, trying her damnedest to be bright. "And they're all for you. Did . . . did you lose much?"

"My notebook," said Jasper. Rachel had just opened her mouth to pour out her sympathies upon him when he kept talking regardless. "Um. Look. There's . . . there's something I've got to talk about with you. And it's sort of really important."

"All right," said Rachel, baffled and apprehensive. "What is it?"

He rubbed his arm. He shuffled in and shut the door.

"Um," he said. "I know there hasn't been, like, any . . . anything, with you and me, or anything, but I sort of was thinking I might like there to be, and I thought maybe you'd like there to be, too, um. . . ."

"Oh," said Rachel, heat rising from her chest to her face. "That. Um. That sounds good. Yes. I think that's the, um, the ideal. Goal. Sort of thing."

He looked up at her and flashed a sheepish grin, then rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Hah," he said, and then cleared his throat. "It's just that, er, well, that being the case, um, there's something I really ought to tell you, because I feel like you . . . you deserve to know."

"What, is the werewolf-ness transmitted through kissing?" Rachel asked, cocking an eyebrow and folding her arms.

"What? No," said Jasper. His face went slack with panic. "At least—at least I don't _think_ so. Oh God. What if it—oh God."

"I was joking, Jasper, I was _kidding,"_ Rachel said. "That's not a thing."

"Right," he said, sagging. "Right, no, yeah. Um. Well. So. Speaking of kissing, um."

"Yeah?" said Rachel, while her heart made a determined bid to kick its way out of her chest.

"I've sort of . . . kissed somebody who isn't you," he mumbled.

Rachel blinked. "Oh," she said.

"And it's not—it's not like it's going to be a-a-a _thing,_ it's not going to be a _thing,"_ he assured her, his face the very picture of earnestness. "It just sort of happened, but it's not going to happen again, and I thought you really ought to know, but I don't want you to think that it's—that I've—that I'm not—"

Rachel leaned an elbow on the counter and propped her chin on her hand. Jasper was blushing so hotly it was visibly making him sweat. She smiled, fighting down the needling pain in her heart.

"My, you _do_ get round, don't you," she said. "So who was it, then?"

Jasper's face went white. His eyes flicked to the window. He gulped.

"I—I dunno, I really shouldn't," he said. "I don't want to cause any—any problems, I don't want to get anybody in—in trouble, or anything. Cause any feuds, or—or anything like that."

"Nah, come off it," said Rachel. "You've said it's not a _thing,_ it's fine. Besides, I'm already good friends with all the women here, I'm sure it won't be too much of an issue. And I couldn't _possibly_ blame anybody for wanting to kiss your adorable face."

Jasper promptly buried said face in his hands. Rachel grinned and tossed a cookie at his head.

"Come on," she said, "fess up. Was it Miss Flowers? You're probably her type."

 _"Wsnt a wmn,"_ Jasper mumbled.

"What was that?" Rachel said.

"It . . . wasn't a woman," Jasper said. Rachel's eyes got very big.

"Oh, _wasn't_ it!" she cried. To her surprise, she was actually having a great deal of fun. "Was it Archer? I bet it was Archer, he took a real shine to you."

"Rachel, please, I really shouldn't," Jasper moaned.

"Nobody's going to _care,_ Jasper," she said, waving a hand at him. "What happens in the Society stays in the Society. Everybody already thinks we're destroying their Good Christian Values, we've all pretty much decided to go for broke."

"What? No, that's not—that's not it at all," said Jasper. "It just—it can't leave this room, all right? Can you promise me that? I really, _really_ don't want to get anyone in trouble, is all."

Rachel sighed, rolling her eyes. "All _right,"_ she said. "My lips are sealed. Now _tell meeeeeeeee."_

Jasper fidgeted. A shy smile tugged at his lips. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"It . . . it was Doc—Henry," he admitted.

Rachel went frigid.

 _"What,"_ she said.

"Um?" Jasper squeaked.

"When?" she demanded. A lump was already rising in her throat, furious tears welling in her eyes.

"Just—an hour ago? I dunno!" said Jasper.

"What did you do? What _happened?"_

"I—it was—I don't know! It all happened really fast! We were talking and then I gave him back his coat and then, I dunno! It just sort of happened! It wasn't my idea!"

Rachel upended the entire pan of cookies. Jasper shrieked and dove beneath the nearest table.

"That _snake!"_ she cried, her voice cracking shrill with the strength of her emotion. "That scheming _bastard!"_

"Rachel—"

She fled from the kitchen before he could see her crying.


	5. Chapter 5

Jekyll woke up when Poole set a tray on his nightstand. He could smell scones and Earl Gray. He had a blistering headache and felt like his tongue was wearing a sock. Everything was sore, like he'd been run over by a carriage. Judging by the fuzziness of his memories, he might _actually_ have been run over by a carriage. That might explain why his hand was a red mass of pain wrapped in bandages.

"What time is it?" Jekyll managed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Eight o'clock, sir," Poole said.

Jekyll yawned, sitting up, and stretched. Poole bustled off in the direction of the window.

"That's not so—"

Poole flung open the curtains, and brilliant daylight flooded the room. Jekyll stopped mid-stretch, his eyes snapping open, a lance striking down his spine and locking it ramrod-straight.

"I'm sorry, Poole," Jekyll said, his voice gone glassy. "Could you repeat that?"

"It's eight in the morning, sir," Poole said. "By my watch, you've slept a bit over sixteen hours."

"And nobody thought to _wake_ me?" Jekyll said.

Poole must have caught the edge in his voice, because he stayed over by the window.

"Everyone else was sleeping, sir," he said. "And Dr. Lanyon recommended you be allowed to wake on your own."

"I'm sure he did," Jekyll said. He got up out of bed. He was sore all over, his head pounding, but at least he was dressed, even if it was in yesterday's wrinkled clothes. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to get to the Society."

"Oh, come now, Dr. Jekyll," Poole said. "And let all this breakfast go to waste?"

"Poole," Jekyll said, clinging to his composure by his fingernails. "In less than ten days, I have to present an exhibition so stunningly brilliant that it will make the idiot masses forget that a quarter of London was burned to the ground. The building in which the _vast_ majority of the items to be exhibited were housed has, likewise, been burned to the ground. I am responsible for a large number of people who are now homeless and, additionally, are on the bad side of every policeman and citizen within a ten mile radius. It is my _sole_ responsibility, solely mine, to fix _all_ of this mess within the next ten days, or the option of _ever_ fixing it will vanish into thin air, and every _ounce_ of work I have put into this Society and all its members along with it! If you will _excuse me,_ Mr. Poole, I really must be going!"

"Yes, sir," Poole said, plastering himself to the wall. "Very good, sir."

Jekyll slipped his shoes on, hurriedly fixed his hair, and grabbed a scone and the cup of tea off the tray Poole had brought in.

"And thank you for the wake-up call," he said to Poole. "Perhaps a touch earlier next time."

"Yes, sir," Poole said again.

Jekyll hurried out. He didn't even taste the scone, barely noticed the tea burning his tongue. He only paused to grab his coat and hat and drop off the empty teacup with the maid. He headed straight for the Society, the brisk morning air whipping up his circulation. Much as he would have liked to be back in bed, there was nothing for it. He could sleep again when the exhibition was over.

The coat still smelled like Jasper.

When he got to the Society about fifteen minutes later, he'd managed to get his mind back into something resembling its proper order. The main priority would be figuring out what assets they still had left, what hadn't been destroyed, what was intact and what could be salvaged. Keeping everyone's spirits up was paramount—if the lodgers gave up, everything else was pointless. Finding what had become of Dr. Frankenstein and the creature was next, because having them on board for the exhibition would be ideal—

_Because Frankenstein was_ _ill_ _and needed_ _help,_ _she came to you, they came to you for_ _help_ _—_

Jekyll shook himself. He was getting sidetracked. He stopped for a moment in front of the Society, rubbing his hands against the cold. Someone had hung a large panel of canvas over the hole in the front, which was flapping gently in the breeze. All the fires finally seemed to have gone out. He hurried inside, chewing over his internal To-Do list. It was looking a little scrambled, fallen out of the order he had so meticulously put it in, and he was already having trouble remembering the lower items on the list.

The foyer was, to his relief, bustling with activity. Several of the lodgers seemed to have taken it upon themselves to clean up the mess, and had made significant headway with it in the time he'd been gone. It was with even greater relief that he noted that Jasper was not among them. However, shortly after he entered, a different figure detached itself from the crowd and beelined for him.

"Ah, Rachel, good morning," Jekyll said. "I was wondering if you'd—"

She stormed right up to him and slapped him. Jekyll saw stars. His ears rang. Blinking and stunned, he worked his jaw, concerned it might be dislocated.

"I quit," Rachel hissed. "Consider that my notice of resignation, _Dr. Jekyll."_

"Rachel—"

She shoved him, hard. He stumbled back, still discombobulated from the blow to the head.

"I don't care," she snapped. "I don't care about your excuses, or your reasons, or your stupid apologies! Take your silver tongue and _choke on it!"_

She stormed off. Jekyll stood very still, shaking with tension. He could feel the palm print stinging on his face. It would doubtless be visible for quite some time. His fists clenched on empty air. How dare she do this to him in public, how dare she make a spectacle of him, he ought to—

 _Throttle her!_ Hyde snarled, frothing with Jekyll's own rage.

Jekyll took a slow, deep breath. He straightened up. He fixed his shirt and his hair, settled his composure back in place. The anger would not leave him, burning like a hot coal in his chest, quickening his blood and reddening his thoughts.

"Er, sooooooo. . . ."

Jekyll came back to himself. Mr. Archer had sidled up to him, eyes darting. Several other people were staring. Jekyll cranked out his best smile and a little eye-roll.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I believe Miss Pidgley is a tad upset with me. I'm sure it'll blow over, given a bit of time."

"Rrrrrright," said Archer. "What was all that about, then?"

"Personal matters," Jekyll said. Blood was seeping through the bandages on his hand, the stitches pulling. "It's hardly important at the moment, hah hah."

"Hah hah," Archer agreed nervously. His eyes flicked to Jekyll's hand. Jekyll slipped the offending appendage behind his back, under his coat, and rested it in the crook of his other elbow.

"Was there something you needed, Mr. Archer?" he inquired.

"Me? No, nothing at all," said Archer, raising his hands in surrender. "Here to help, that's all."

"Very kind of you," said Jekyll. "In that case, I'm off to attempt _some_ sort of comprehensive inventory. If you could find someone capable of consoling Miss Pidgley, I'd appreciate it."

"Will do," said Archer, tossing him a casual salute.

"Thank you," said Jekyll. "And if you see Mr. Kaylock, would you please let him know I'd like to speak with him?"

"Uh," said Archer, "sure."

Jekyll nodded to him and started off in the nearest convenient direction. He could feel the lodgers staring at him as he went.

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day was filled with so much work that everything else faded to a background chatter. He forgot to eat, of course, which wouldn't have been a problem if he hadn't stood up too fast in Dr. Maijabi's (thankfully untouched) laboratory and blacked out for a moment, after which he was scolded into the kitchen and scowled at mightily until he had actually eaten something. Rankled, he promptly excused himself to go check on his own laboratory, although he knew very well that it was perfectly fine. The lingering gazes of the lodgers were making him itch.

Once the heavy doors had closed behind him, he breathed easily again. The exhaustion leapt upon his back like a tiger, as though it had been waiting for him to let his guard down. He leaned his head back against the doors, sighing, eyes closed.

 _Now this seems familiar,_ Hyde chuckled.

"Oh, _do_ go away," Jekyll said, rolling his eyes. "Don't you ever get tired of spouting the same old drivel every single day?"

 _So_ _fucking_ _tired,_ Hyde said. _Why don't you just give up, and spare us both the pain?_

"Abandoning all subtlety, are we?" Jekyll asked. He pushed himself off the door and went to his desk. There was plenty of paperwork that needed his attention. He could take care of it while he waited for the lodgers' gossiping to die down.

 _Maybe you are,_ said Hyde. _I resent the implication I've_ _ever_ _been subtle._

"All right, then," Jekyll said, lowering himself into his chair. "Allow me to be blunt: go away."

 _You're never going to get all this shit sorted out before the exhibition,_ Hyde sneered. _Run yourself into the ground if you like, you're already screwed._

"I wonder whose fault that is," Jekyll said. Without really noticing, he plucked up the half-empty bottle of wine from his desk and poured out a glass of it.

 _Yours,_ Hyde said. _It's always your fault, isn't it? Everything you touch winds up ruined, it's no wonder your life's a shambles. You brought it on yourself and you know it._ _But by all means, keep putting your grubby little hands all over everything. See how much you can take down with you._

Jekyll sipped his wine, eyes on his paperwork.

 _Worked its magic on Rachel,_ Hyde said, lounging in the cheval glass. _She hit you so hard_ _I_ _felt it. Not that you didn't_ _deserve_ _it, because you did. I told you it'd happen. And now she's out of a job, too, isn't she. Nicely done, Mr. Jesus._

Jekyll had just opened his mouth to retort when there was a knock at the door. He looked up, scowling. Hyde went up in a puff of smoke and was gone.

"Yes?" he said.

The door opened and, once again, Jasper poked his head in. Jekyll's heart skipped a beat, his stomach turned a flip.

"Um," said Jasper. "Miss Flowers said you wanted to see me."

"Yes, yes, come in, close the door," said Jekyll, averting his eyes. Jasper did as instructed, but stayed near the door, fidgeting.

"What was it . . . about?" he asked. His voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat.

Jekyll sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tempted to finish his wine, but that might not have looked particularly good for him. Instead he gestured to the chair by the lab bench.

"Please sit, Jasper," he said.

 _H_ _eel,_ _boy_ _,_ Hyde sniggered. _Now speak!_

"All right," Jasper said uncertainly.

_Good boy! Have a biscuit._

He went to the chair and sat like he expected it to bite him. Jekyll spent just a moment too long collecting his thoughts.

"What happened to your hand?" Jasper asked.

"Nothing," Jekyll said. "Had a minor glassware accident, it's nothing to be concerned about."

"All right," Jasper said dubiously.

Jekyll sighed. He leaned his elbows on his desk and stared at his hands.

"I wanted to say . . . how sorry I am," he said. "About what happened. It was . . . immensely unprofessional, entirely inappropriate, and . . . incredibly unfair. And I am deeply, deeply sorry, Jasper. I don't know what came over me. All I can say is that it won't happen again. That, I promise."

"Oh," said Jasper, and Jekyll did not miss the twinge of disappointment in his voice. It made him want to eat his entire stupid apology, and possibly his hat. "It's only—I thought Mr. Hyde would be more upset than I ever was."

"Why should Hyde give one single _damn_ what I—"

Jekyll broke off mid-snap, reigning himself in. He took a deep breath and counted backwards from ten.

"Mr. Hyde," he said stiffly, "has no bearing on the matter whatsoever."

"He doesn't?" Jasper said, baffled. "It's only—I thought—"

"You thought what everyone thinks, and nonetheless it is still _wrong,"_ Jekyll interrupted.

Jasper shrank, apologetic, and Jekyll clenched his injured hand. That pain was easier to bear.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I am sorry, Jasper. I've—it's only that I've heard that rumor one too many times. It does rather get under one's skin, hah hah. You may rest assured that this particular matter—and all of my personal affairs—do not concern him in the least."

"Oh," Jasper said again, sounding considerably more upbeat. "Then—sorry, then what's the problem?"

"The problem," Jekyll began, and had to stop. The words were too hard to say, too final, too foul. He glanced at Jasper, at the naïve and fragile _hope_ in his face, and wished himself dead on the spot.

"Yeah?" Jasper prompted.

"The problem, Jasper, is that I am in a position of far too much power over you for anything—any unprofessional associations to ever be . . . _sane,_ _"_ he said, although his voice shook. "I never, ever want to put you in a position where you would feel uncomfortable saying _no_ to me. I refuse to even allow the possibility. Your safety is of _paramount_ importance to me, and this—this isn't safe. This can never be safe, so long as you are a lodger at the Society and a rogue scientist under my provision. There's simply too much leverage on my side. I'm sorry, Jasper. I'm sorry this even had to be brought up."

"But—you'd never do anything like that," Jasper said. "Use the Society and all of your—everything to manipulate me. You'd never _use_ any of that leverage, I know you wouldn't."

 _"Jasper—"_ Jekyll began, distraught. He put a hand over his face, shaking, ruinous. It had to be said, even if it killed him. Hyde could have done it. Hyde could have had it done with five minutes ago. "You have known me all of four days, Mr. Kaylock. I am not the saint you imagine me to be."

Jasper was very quiet. There was no air in the room. Jekyll's stomach was full of maggots. He braced himself, for anger, for betrayal, for the sting of a sharp and well-deserved rebuke.

"Oh," said Jasper, and it was worse than anything Jekyll could have imagined.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled. "I'm so sorry, Jasper. It should never have come to this."

Jasper stood up.

"It's all right," he said, and he sounded nothing so much as _disappointed._ "Thanks for talking with me about it, anyway. It's good to know where things stand. It's good to have the air cleared out."

Jekyll could only nod. He had to keep his eyes closed. He couldn't look. He couldn't bear to look.

"I'll . . . see you round, Dr. Jekyll," Jasper said, and Jekyll's heart snapped in two.

"I suppose you will, Mr. Kaylock," he managed.

Jasper walked away. Jekyll clenched his fist until it bled and prayed the earth would swallow him whole.

* * *

 

Hyde at least gave him a few minutes before he started _niggling._

 _Those are called "feelings,"_ he said helpfully, while Jekyll nursed his second glass of wine. _I know it's been an awfully long time since you've had any, so if you need any help with them—_

"No," Jekyll said flatly.

 _Oh, fine, go on wrecking everything, then,_ Hyde said, smug. _It's getting funny at this point._

Jekyll sipped his wine. The pain in his hand was starting to fade, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"It was one mistake," he said, "and it's fixed now."

_Fixed?_ _Hah! You've fucked it up worse than ever! If you want it_ _fixed,_ _now, I can fix it._

"No you can't," he said.

 _There's no inconvenient power dynamic between me and the wolflet,_ Hyde purred. _You can have it all~_

"In four more days, you can state your case," Jekyll said, although he was _aching._ "Until then, it will do you no good."

 _Give it up, doctor,_ Hyde said. _You've already lost,_ _and you know it_ _._ _You were always too weak to make it, and now you've got the proof to back it up. Isn't that what your ~science~ is all about? Well congratulations, dear doctor, we've_ _empirically_ _proved you're a failure!_

Jekyll sat for a long moment, his jaw clenched, his hands shaking. He opened the carved wooden box on his desk and drew out a key. He felt Hyde go ice cold inside him.

 _What are you doing?_ he said.

Deliberately, Jekyll turned and unlocked the top drawer of his cabinet. Hyde swarmed across the glass, frenzied and turbulent.

 _Jekyll, what are you_ _doing?_ he demanded.

Eyes down, he rifled through the contents until he found the right phial. He tapped out a measure of the white salt into his wine. His hands were steady. His face was stone. There was no heartbeat in his chest.

 _Stop,_ Hyde said, pressing his hands to the inside of the nearest cabinet's glass. _Stop this right now. You stubborn, spiteful ass!_ _What are you trying to accomplish?_ _What could you_ _possibly_ _hope to gain?!_

Like a clockwork soldier, Jekyll carried on. He stirred and stirred until the spoon stopped crunching at the bottom of the glass, until the salt was all dissolved. He raised the glass to his lips and took a single bitter sip.

 _Henry, for God's_ _sake!_ Hyde screamed.

Finally, Jekyll paused. The wine tingled on his tongue. He met Hyde's eyes in the glass, took in his desperation, his abject terror—basked in it, reveled in it. He raised an eyebrow.

 _Please,_ said Hyde.

Jekyll spat the mouthful of poisoned wine back into the glass, then took the whole ensemble to the chemical waste bin and poured it out.

"Don't test me, Hyde," he said. His voice did not so much as quaver. "You will always, _always_ lose."

 _You're a madman,_ Hyde spat. _You're a lunatic!_

"If I am, then so are you," Jekyll said, unconcerned. He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. His tongue was still tingling. He rinsed his mouth out cursorily. "But you don't care much about that, do you. You care very little about anything but yourself. Fortunately, I still have the power to take even that from you."

_Much good it'll do you when you're_ _dead._

"I shall be laughing in hell," Jekyll said.

 _Look at yourself, Jekyll,_ Hyde sneered. _Is this what you wanted? Was this where your ~grand designs~ were meant to carry you? You are_ _everything_ _they accuse you of, everything you built your stupid Society to dismantle. Hypocrite. Liar._

"No," Jekyll said, as though instructing a child, _"you_ are a hypocrite and a liar. _I_ am a gentleman. And if you will stop _annoying_ me, perhaps I will allow you a night out."

 _Hah, you're cracking,_ Hyde said, without venom, or indeed much feeling at all.

"Don't push your luck, Edward," Jekyll said sweetly.

Hyde did not say anything else.


	6. Chapter 6

The man who answered the door for Rachel had the most immaculate eyebrow-raise she had ever seen on a person.

"Yes?" he said.

"Er," said Rachel. "Is Dr. Lanyon in?"

"He is," the butler admitted, begrudgingly. "Who shall I say is calling?"

"It's Rachel Pidgley," she said. "From the Society. And if it helps, it's about Dr. Henry Jekyll."

Again, that absolutely flawless eyebrow raise.

"I shall inquire," said the butler, and shut the door in her face.

Rachel stood on the doorstep for what felt like hours, fidgeting and stamping against the cold. She was a bit concerned the peelers might pick her up for loitering—she was incongruous enough, in this shiny, white-painted neighborhood, where all the houses stood like false teeth, ivory and flawless. She'd never been to visit Lanyon before, although she had met him once or twice. His house was more like a manor than anything. She felt she ought to have had a bath before coming.

At long last, the door opened again.

"Dr. Lanyon will see you in the parlor, Miss Pidgley," the butler announced.

"Thank you," Rachel said. He admitted her, and led her through a foyer nearly as big as the Society's. The parlor, too, was large, although there was a cheery fire burning in the grate. There were all sorts of shiny knick-knacks displayed tastefully around the room. Dr. Lanyon was there, stiff and proper, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Miss Pidgley, sir," the butler said, and evanesced out of the room.

"Good morning, Miss Pidgley," Dr. Lanyon said. He did not sit down, nor did he offer her a chair. "To what do I owe the honor? You said it was about Jekyll."

"Well," said Rachel, fidgeting. She looked at her shoes and had a sudden attack of embarrassment. She'd probably tracked dirt all over the floors already. "In a sort of roundabout way, yes."

"Do tell," said Lanyon.

Rachel cleared her throat.

"Er," she said, "it's just that, well, you're his friend, and you're good at getting him to sort of see sense, and. . . ."

"And?"

"And I might have slapped him and quit my job yesterday but I do sort of really need that job and I'd really appreciate it if you could try and make sure he won't throw me out when I come back asking for it on account of I slapped him."

Lanyon blinked at her.

"Dare I ask what he did to incur your wrath?" he asked.

"Have you _got_ to?"

"I feel as though it might be relevant to the situation."

"It's a bit personal."

"One would think."

"I really shouldn't say. It's very private, for him and me both."

"Could one say this assault was justified?"

"I mean," said Rachel, "from _my_ perspective, yeah. Otherwise I wouldn't've done it. You'd have to ask him if you want his side."

"I doubt I would get it," Lanyon muttered. Rachel pretended she hadn't heard. He went on, in a clearer tone, "I'll see what I can do."

"You will?" she said. "Oh, thank you so much, you've no idea how much this means to me, if there's anything I can do—"

"Yes yes, _et cetera,"_ said Lanyon, waving a dismissive hand. "As I recall, you've been integral to the success of the Society thus far, and at this juncture, we can't afford to lose anybody. I'll speak with Dr. Jekyll on your behalf as soon as I'm able."

"Thank you," Rachel said again. She bobbed a little curtsey, because it felt appropriate. "I'll stop taking up your time. Honestly, though, thank you."

"Very good, off you go," he said, already turning away. Rachel started back towards the door when he added, in a very different tone, _"Actually."_

She turned. "Yes?"

Lanyon was contemplating the fire, his mouth pulled to one side, his brow furrowed.

"There _is_ something you could do for me," he said slowly.

"What is it?" said Rachel, intrigued despite herself.

"You're acquainted with Mr. Edward Hyde, are you not?" he said.

"As much as anyone is," said Rachel.

"Do you . . . like him?"

"Do I—sorry, do I _what?"_

"Do you _like_ him, Miss Pidgley," Lanyon said, turning to her. "Do you find him to be a pleasant person. Do you enjoy his company. Do you wish him well in his endeavors. Do you _like_ him."

"He's all right," said Rachel, growing more suspicious with every word. "Why?"

"Because I have reason to believe that Dr. Jekyll's recent, ah, _dramatic_ shifts in priority and personality are inextricably tied to Mr. Hyde," said Lanyon. "Perhaps including whatever it is he did to earn your ire. Simply put, Miss Pidgley, Hyde is bad for Henry, but I'm having a devil of a time convincing _Henry_ of that."

"So what d'you want _me_ to do?"

"If you could," said Lanyon, "I would ask that you speak with Mr. Hyde about it. If you are on friendly terms with him, perhaps you can convince him to leave Jekyll be. If not, perhaps you could send him my way, and _I_ can convince him. I've been trying to get hold of him for several days. He is not easy to find."

"You're not going to have him roughed up or anything, are you?" she asked, squinting at him.

"Good heavens, no, what do you take me for?" Lanyon said, pressing an offended hand to his bosom. "I simply want an opportunity to speak with the man."

"Well," said Rachel. "All right. Next time I see him, I'll have a go."

"Thank you _so_ much, Miss Pidgley," said Lanyon. "It's a great help. Good morning."

"Good morning," said Rachel. Finding herself summarily dismissed, she left the house without waiting to be shown out. As she walked back towards the Society, she wondered what she could possibly say to Hyde to pry him off of Jekyll.

Mentioning that Jekyll had been kissing other people might be a good start. Hyde certainly seemed the jealous type—impetuous, vain, prone to fits of anger—but then again, he'd also never shown any genuine regard for Jekyll. At best, he'd talked about the doctor with a kind of indifferent scorn. Most times, he didn't talk about Jekyll at all.

Which, now that she thought about it, was rather incongruous to Hyde's entire demeanor. She would have expected him to gleefully dish out all the embarrassing secrets about Jekyll that he possibly could, simply for the pleasure of annoying him—but no, even if Jekyll was brought up naturally in conversation, Hyde would roll his eyes and whine and sidetrack until the topic was changed to his satisfaction. He certainly wasn't the sort to be ashamed of himself, so why then would he so stringently avoid talking about his—for lack of a better word—partner?

Rachel wondered, with a squirming of the skin, if Lanyon might be on to something.

* * *

 

Utterson looked down at the document on the table. He frowned.

"A will?" he said.

"Yes, Gabriel, it's a will," said Jekyll, with the air of a man who had been tending to stubborn children all day. Utterson turned the frown on him.

"Why?" he asked.

"The usual reasons," said Jekyll, rolling his eyes. "Look, I don't _expect_ anything to happen to me, but in the event that something does, I'd prefer to be prepared. Things have been significantly more dangerous than usual, and I should hate to leave anyone with a mess."

"Henry, if there's something—"

"There's _nothing,_ Gabriel," Jekyll assured him, before he could even get his sentence all the way out. "I promise you. It's strictly precautionary. I only need you to ensure it's fully legal. And, if you wouldn't mind, take charge of it for me. The last thing I want is for it and me to go up in the same blaze, hah hah."

Utterson pursed his lips, tickling his nose with his mustache.

"Henry," he said again, "if there's something wrong, I think you'd better tell me."

Jekyll deflated. He rubbed his face. When he took his hand away, he looked five years older.

"So many things," he said, shaking his head. He glanced at Utterson and added, "All of which you already know about, and you're doing all you can. I do appreciate it. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

Utterson chewed on this for a moment, then nodded.

"If ever something comes up—"

"You'll be the first to know," Jekyll promised.

That settled, Utterson turned back to the will. It was brief, for the most part fairly standard stuff—upon his death, everything was to be left to the Society, save for his notes, which were to go to Lanyon to be destroyed or preserved at his discretion. There was, however, a point that stuck in Utterson's teeth.

_In the event of the disappearance of Dr. Henry Jekyll, his estate_ _and his position at the Society for Arcane Sciences_ _shall be_ _given_ _in full to Mr. Edward Hyde._

Utterson stared at this clause for a good two minutes, rolling it about in his mind. He was aware of Jekyll watching him, aware of the other man's patience growing thinner. He kept quiet, waiting, waiting. . . .

"Is there a problem?" Jekyll asked at last.

"I don't believe I'm the one to judge that," Utterson said slowly. He laid the will down on the desk and met Jekyll's eyes. Jekyll shrank from him, ever so slightly, and Utterson _kne_ _w,_ with absolute conviction, that Jekyll was lying to him.

"I know it's irregular," Jekyll said, pacifying, "but I do believe it's for the best."

"Has Mr. Hyde been informed of this particular clause?" Utterson asked.

"Yes, of course," said Jekyll.

"In the presence of a lawyer?"

"That seems entirely unnecessary. Gabriel, what are you getting at? Because I know you're rumbling your way round to _something_ or other."

"Hm," said Utterson, embarrassed. He pursed his lips and looked anywhere but at Jekyll. "Well. It's this way."

"Yes?"

"It's a damnably dangerous thing to put in a will."

"Oh come now, you don't think he's going to _murder_ me?"

"I dislike the man—"

 _"Immensely, Henry,_ yes, so you've said," Jekyll said, exasperated. "I don't know why we must keep going through this. Mr. Hyde is as trustworthy as he needs to be, and if he ceases to be, I can and will be rid of him without so much as batting an eye! You don't have to like the man, and you don't have to trust him, but at least trust _me,_ would you? It's beginning to get insulting."

Heat rose to Utterson's cheeks, and he could only mutter and mumble until Jekyll reached across the desk and patted his arm.

"I understand you're only looking out for me," Jekyll said. "Please understand that just this once, I don't _actually_ need looking-after, no matter what Lanyon has led you to believe."

"It's very little to do with Lanyon," Utterson said.

"Is it?" said Jekyll. "Is it, really?"

"You're concerning enough in your own right," Utterson said. Jekyll laughed.

"I suppose I am," he said. "Will you sign off on it, Gabriel? Despite its irregularities, despite your concern? I know I've asked you for too many favors already—"

Utterson waved him off.

"Yes, yes, it's all perfectly legal," he said. "But I must ask you, for legal purposes: did you write this will under duress from any other party?"

"No," said Jekyll. "But thank you for asking."

"And are you of sound mind and body?" he asked.

"One would think you could judge that for yourself," Jekyll said.

He mustered himself and met Jekyll's eyes again, and again saw that nigh imperceptible flinch.

"For legal purposes," he said.

"Yes, then," said Jekyll, holding his gaze. "Yes, I am of sound mind and body."

"Hm," said Utterson. He signed the bottom of the will, permanently affirming its legality. Jekyll took it and folded it and placed it in an envelope, which he then passed back to Utterson.

"I do appreciate this," he said. "I know it's awfully busy for the both of us just now, but I felt it best not to take chances on having spare time, hah hah."

"Hm," Utterson said again. He picked up his hat and got to his feet. "I shall take it straight home and put it in my safe."

"Thank you," Jekyll said, rising as well. He shook Utterson's hand and then escorted him to the door. They said their goodbyes, and Utterson took his leave.

The will was burning through his hand before he'd gone a block. By the time he got all the way back home, he could no more have left it in its envelope than he could have commanded his heart to stop beating.

_In the event of the disappearance of Dr. Henry Jekyll. . . ._

He frowned. He read the offending clause six, seven times. He read the rest of the will three times, in case there was something he'd missed elsewhere. He folded the will back up, returned it to its envelope, stuck it in the safe. He stood for a long moment, thinking his trundling thoughts, playing Jekyll's words over and over in his head, looking for points of thinness, for spots of tarnish.

Jekyll could talk circles around him any day of the week, but Utterson was dogged enough to always untangle himself, given enough time.

When a few minutes of contemplation had not produced satisfactory results, he carried on with his business, letting the conversation simmer at the back of his mind. He conducted several meetings with potential sponsors for the exhibition, spoke with multiple other lawyers about the damages to the neighborhood surrounding the Society, negotiated with several fine and upstanding and very annoyed people until he found a venue wherein the exhibition could reasonably be held. He took a brief break for lunch, thenspent almost two hours talking himself hoarse until he managed to simply out-stubborn the police commissioner into freeing the members of the Society who'd been arrested in the midst of the fire. He did a few more routine things, small cases, paperwork, letter-writing, and then closed his doors and had his dinner. The whole time, that will niggled at him, Jekyll's curious flinching, the spun confectionery reassurances that, upon close examination, had no substance whatsoever.

For a man like Jekyll to make a claim without providing any evidence, there must either have been no evidence, or the evidence that did exist was distasteful to him.

"Mr. Utterson?" his clerk, Mr. Guest, said to him, as Utterson sat staring into the fire. "Is something the matter?"

"Something," Utterson pronounced, very sure of himself, "is."

* * *

 

Jasper had not, previously, spent a significant amount of time in pubs. Back on the farm, it was because the nearest pub was ten miles away—once he'd gotten to London, it was half because he'd been too focused on his work and half because, on the vast majority of nights, he was a wolf.

This particular pub was nightmarish.

The crush and noise of the crowd reminded him too much of the mob that had nearly killed him. That, in turn, reminded him of the man who had saved him, which reminded him that Rachel probably wanted nothing to do with him now and Jekyll _definitely_ wanted nothing to do with him now and hell with it, he might as well get drunk. The moon was a waning crescent and wouldn't rise until four in the morning at least, so he had time.

As he sidled around the edge of the crowded room, however, he spotted a familiar face—or at least, a familiar head of hair. It spoke a great deal to the level of his discomfort that eventhis particular head of hair was a relief. Jasper picked his way through the crowd, catching more than a few elbows on the way, and slipped into the chair next to the man simply because there was nowhere to stand.

"You're . . . Mr. Hyde, aren't you?" Jasper said.

The man looked up woozily, one eye half-closed, and flashed a drunken grin.

"Ah, my rep-you-tayshun precedes me," he said. The more open eye narrowed, and he gesticulated to Jasper with his beer. "'Ere, I know you. Your 'Enry's wolflet, ain't you?"

Jasper bristled, a heavy weight mashing all his insides into a ball.

"I'm not Dr. Jekyll's _anything,"_ he snapped.

Hyde laughed and toasted him. _"Same,"_ he said, and slugged back the remaining half pint in one go. He slammed the empty stein on the table and fixed Jasper with a knowing, if slightly unsteady, look. "Lemme buy you a round, mate."

An automatic refusal leapt to Jasper's lips. He swallowed it down. He set his jaw.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, all right. Thanks, Mr. Hyde."

"It's _Edward_ to you, pup, or Eddie, if you fancy."

 _"Pup?"_ Jasper parroted, not sure whether to be offended or charmed by the turn of phrase.

Hyde grinned, then leaned his chair back onto two legs and hollered at the top of his voice, waving his empty stein in the air.

_"Oy! One for me and one for my mate!"_

"Fuck off, ya twat!" the barmaid shouted back at him. He just laughed. His chair tipped past its balance point and toppled. Jasper grabbed him by the arm before he fell and got trampled.

"Careful!" he admonished, pulling Hyde back upright.

"Me? Never," said Hyde. He clamped a hand onto Jasper's biceps and gave him a hearty shake. "Bloody overrated. Never did nobody no good. Hell with it, 's what I say. I got nothin' to lose, might as well 'ave a bit of bloody _fun."_

"Just how drunk _are_ you?" Jasper asked.

"Not enough," Hyde said, with a sloppy wink.

A pair of steins slammed down on the table between them. Hyde slapped the barmaid's ass as she turned away. She turned back and slapped him across the face so hard it laid him out flat on the table.

"Second time in two days," he muttered, rubbing his cheek as she stalked away.

"You had it coming," Jasper told him.

"Fuck you, too," Hyde said. He picked up his glass and raised it in a toast. "And _fuck_ 'Enry Jekyll. Right?"

Jasper stared at him for a moment. He lifted his own glass and clinked it against Hyde's.

"F . . . fuck Henry Jekyll," he said. Once the words were out, they lit something off in Jasper's chest, something bright and angry and powerful. _"Fuck_ Henry Jekyll!"

_"_ _Eyyyy_ _!"_

They drank, Jasper almost until he choked. Hyde nudged him while he sputtered.

"That's the spirit, mate," he said. "You got some catchin' up to do."

Wiping at his watering eyes, Jasper nodded, and settled in to get absolutely _hammered._

* * *

 

By some sort of concerted stagger, Jasper and Edward had made it out of the pub and some way down the street. Jasper's arm was flung around Edward's shoulders, and Edward's was looped around Jasper's waist. Jasper had no idea how much either of them had drunk, except that it was a lot.

"Where—where—where're we going?" Jasper asked. His breath fogged the air, but he wasn't at all cold. Everything was very blurry.

"Wherever you want, mate," Edward said. "'Nother pub? The Blackfog Bazaar? Fuck it, let's go, let's go there!"

"No, I shouldn't," Jasper said. "I've got to go home. I've really got to go home, I'm going to get—I'm going to get all wolfy, and it—and that'd be bad."

"Nahhhhh, you've got _loads_ of time!" Edward said. He leaned out precipitously, dragging Jasper along with him and almost capsizing the two of them. _"Oy! Oy you there! What time's it?"_

"Stop _shouting_ _,"_ Jasper said with a wince. The passerby Edward had accosted crossed to the other side of the street and did not answer.

"Ah, fuck 'em," Edward said fondly. "Loads of time. Trust me, trust me, _loads_ of time. Ever seen Blackfog, Jazz? Ever heard of the _Blackfog Bazaar?"_

"Yeah, 'f course I have, who hasn't?" Jasper said, insulted but blushing nonetheless. He liked the sound of _Jazz._ It was fun and casual and very friendly.

"You been yet? I 'ave. Could show you round, if you liked. Show you the ropes. Big fan o' ropes, me."

"I just—I just don't want to be . . . be turning into a wolf, in the middle of—" he gestured expansively—"everything."

 _"Listen,_ Jazz, listen, we got all the time in the world. All the bloody time in all the bloody _world,_ would you quit goin' on about your wolf shit? Live a little, fuck's sake."

"You're going to get us both killed," Jasper said, although that didn't seem terribly pressing at the moment.

"Ahh, so what?" said Edward. "Might as well have fun doin' it. _Say."_ He regarded Jasper sidelong, something well-oiled creeping into his smile. "Fancy a shag?"

 _"What?"_ Jasper squeaked, going hot all over. He suddenly became intensely aware of Edward's arm around his waist, Edward's hand on his hip, Edward's hair tickling his arm. They were not bad sensations. They were in fact very pleasant sensations.

"You 'eard me," Edward said, grinning broadly. "Do you or don't you?"

"I," said Jasper, tongue-tied. _"Well."_

"Come on, haven't got all night," Edward said, kicking him in the ankle.

"This is a terrible idea," Jasper said, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Is it?" Edward said, sparkling at him. "Is it, really?"

* * *

 

Jasper's back slammed into the wall hard enough to knock his breath out. Edward toppled into him and kissed him like it was the only way he could get air into his lungs. His head was spinning, his fingers numb, and it wasn't _enough,_ it wasn't enough feeling and it wasn't enough pain and it wasn't enough _Edward_ _._ He could barely breathe for the intensity of the kisses, could barely keep his feet even with the wall at his back to hold him up. The two of them fumbled at each other, greedy hands and clumsy mouths, alcohol and sweat and reckless abandon. It was everything it hadn't been with Jekyll, and that was _perfect,_ that was _fine,_ that was _exactly_ what he'd wanted. What did he have to lose that he hadn't already lost? What could _anyone_ care about stupid, pathetic, naïve little _him?_

"Christ," Edward said, delighted. "How long's it been since _you_ had a proper shagging?"

Jasper kissed him to shut him up. Edward laughed against his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

Hyde couldn't believe it, but he'd finally, _finally_ made it to Blackfog. Oh, it had taken days, an unbelievable amount of nagging and niggling and finagling, and there had been ever so many detours (some of them exceptionally pleasant), but he was _here._

And it was everything he could possibly have hoped for.

The bazaar spanned several blocks, tented under colored silks flung over laundry lines. The air was a clamor of voices, glowing mists and brilliant lights, shadows black and velvet. A thousand different smells pervaded the space, wafting up above the rooftops with the fog. Everything glittered and gleamed, green and gold and silver and red. He could _taste_ the place, like curry and sea salt, could feel its electric tingle in the air. The press of people was incredible—it seemed like every miscreant and vagabond in London had turned up, every monster and madman had crawled out of their sewers and down from their towers to join in the crushing tide of life. The opportunists of the London underworld had come out in full force, too—pickpockets, beggars, prostitutes and hawkers all dotted the crowd and gathered in the corners, shouting and sneaking and selling their little hearts out.

Jasper was clinging to his arm for dear life, and that was all right, too. He'd gotten rather quiet after their tete-a-tete—probably impressed, far too overawed for words—

 _Dear God, you're up yourself,_ Jekyll remarked.

 _—far_ too _overawed_ for words, _and additionally_ in a state of such overwhelming bliss that words had been unnecessary. But Hyde's energy had been unflagging, manic, to the point that holding still was _torture,_ and there was still _so_ much night left, and if Jekyll was going to go about drinking poison and writing wills, Hyde was damn well going to milk every second for all it was worth.

"Oooooh, look look look!" he cooed, dragging Jasper over to a lime-green stand filled with glimmering bottles in a thousand different hues. "Now _that's_ quality herbalism, that is. You fiddle about with potions, don't you?"

"I—I do," said Jasper. He leaned over Hyde's shoulder, peering at the bottles. He looked up at the salesman, who was half-shrouded in shadow. "You wouldn't . . . happen to have any wolfsbane potion, would you?"

"Wolfsbane?" said the salesman, in a thick accent that Hyde couldn't place. "Yes, yes, we have."

"Oh! Er . . . how much?" Jasper hazarded.

Hyde was about to scold him for being a total rube when something shinier caught his eye, and quick as thinking he was off, dodging through the crowd.

 _Do_ _not_ _leave him alone here,_ Jekyll scolded, frowning at him from a puddle on the ground. Hyde stepped on his face. _I mean it._

"Or what?" Hyde muttered under his breath.

_Or he'll get hurt! For God's sake, at least_ _pretend_ _to have an ounce of compassion._

"Like you care," said Hyde, rolling his eyes. He pushed out of the press of the crowd and grabbed a handy post to keep from being dragged away. It was really _inconvenient,_ being short. He might have to take to the rooftops. All this getting elbowed in the head was starting to annoy him.

_Hyde. . . ._

"So what's all _this_ shiny business?" Hyde asked the stallkeeper, gesturing to the glittering assortment of gems and filigree wires laid out on velvet cushions.

_Hyde._

"Ah, a discerning eye, sir," said the stallkeeper, with a _what-a-sucker_ glimmer in her eye. "These stones are imbued with incredible powers, beyond all imagining! This one—"

_Hyde_ _!_

"Funny, 'cause they look like cheap shite to me," Hyde quipped, and darted back into the crowd. He found Jasper huddling against a wall near the potion stand with his metaphorical tail between his legs. He nearly went up the wall when Hyde caught him by the arm.

"There you are," Hyde said, rolling his eyes. "Gotta keep up, Jazz, don't want you gettin' et up."

"Right," said Jasper, leaning on him. "Right, yeah, right. Sorry. Look, I—I really _should_ be getting back, I didn't have enough for the wolfsbane and—"

 _"Oooo,_ I've only _heard_ about those!" Hyde said, off again after a particularly eye-catching assortment of luminiferous wights. He kept a firm grip on Jasper, if for no other reason than to keep Jekyll quiet. He fluttered from stall to stall, directionless and erratic but _endlessly_ delighted. He towed Jasper along with him, finding him an excellent sounding board to prove how bloody _brilliant_ Hyde was, all that stuffy knowledge Jekyll had amassed finally coming in handy. Jasper seemed suitably impressed, and after a while even started to look like he was enjoying himself. An awful lot of money was spent, but it was worth every penny—there were salts and reagents, daggers and dirks, disgusting (but delicious) meat pies, more drinks for the both of them, vicious chemicals and sparkling trinkets and a book so musty and old and ugly that Jekyll nearly fainted clean out of Hyde's head when he saw it.

They bought that one, too. It was boring and idiotic, but if there was one talent Jekyll had, it was taking boring, idiotic, dull-as-dirt science and turning it into. . . .

Well, _Hyde,_ for one.

He was just beginning to feel like heading in a vaguely homeward direction when his eye caught on the single most incredible sight yet. The noise that came out of his mouth was inhuman. He grabbed Jasper by both arms, hauled him into an alleyway, and pinned him to the wall.

 _"Did you see?"_ he squeaked. "Did you see? That was _her!_ That was _her,_ that was _Lucy!"_

"What—who?" Jasper said, looking a little stunned. He might possibly have hit his head on the wall in all the excitement (not Hyde's fault).

 _"Lucy!_ Lucy of the Forty Elephants, Lucy the—look, just _stay here,_ don't get into any trouble, I'll be back, don't follow me!"

"Why—"

 _"You'll make me look too good!"_ Hyde called, even as he bounded back into the crowd.

It was impossible to carry off a proper swagger in the press of people, but the good news was, he did manage to keep Lucy in sight. It took him a good five minutes to work his way over to her. Perhaps by sheer force of presence, she had cleared the area around her. Hyde slipped up next to her and leaned a hand on the stall she was currently perusing. He gave her his worst smile and tipped his hat.

"Evenin', miss," he said.

She spared him a single withering glance. Hyde almost passed out.

"Go away, boy," she said.

 _"Boy?"_ he cried. "Boy?! I'm a fully-grown man, thank you very much!"

"Fully?" said Lucy, arching an eyebrow. "My, how disappointing for you."

Hyde's ears were burning. Somewhere in the back of his head, Jekyll was laughing.

"Being of a slender persuasion tends to be 'elpful when gettin' places a person ain't meant to get into," Hyde said. "By the by, _massive_ fan of your work."

"I doubt you're a _massive_ anything," Lucy said, a smile tugging at her lips. She did turn towards him, though, and her attention spilled onto him like sunlight. He _preened._

"Only a massive pain in the arse, Miss Lucy," he said, tipping his hat. He could not have stopped grinning for love nor money. There was a constant sound inside his head like a kettle boiling over, a piercing whistle of unbelievable excitement. "Particularly to those of a more moneyed inclination."

"Is that so," said Lucy, folding her arms. He had her full attention now, the stallkeeper forgotten. Another woman had precipitated out of the crowd, hanging near Lucy's elbow—she had the look of a career thief about her, doubtless one of the Forty Elephants.

"It _is_ so," said Hyde. His heart was going to beat right out of his chest. His blood was electric. "One might say I've taken some inspiration from a certain lady thief."

"In what way?" Lucy asked, amused.

"Might've 'eard tell of a few of your daring exploits with the peelers," Hyde said, examining his fingernails. "Might've similarly dropped a caber on Mad Moreau. 'Eard of 'im? Yeah, 'e never stood a chance against the likes of me."

"Moreau, the vivisectionist?" Lucy inquired.

"One an' the same, dear lady," Hyde said, grinning ear to ear. "Up in a blaze of glory not two nights ago, thanks entirely to yours truly. With inspiration coming from you, of course."

"Ah," said Lucy, with a twinkle in her eye. "So _you're_ the fucker who burnt down half our best revenue."

Hyde's smile locked in place. His eyes got very wide. He suddenly noticed no fewer than four women in the immediate vicinity all giving him very unfriendly looks.

 _Start running now,_ Jekyll suggested.

"Lllllllladies," Hyde said, tipping his hat.

The first leap took him onto the shoulders of the man to his left. The second launched him up into the laundry lines. They snapped instantly under his weight. He came crashing back down in a tangle of silks. Someone shrieked. The crowd swarmed in confusion. Hyde scrambled out from under the tangle. He ducked through the forest of legs, on his hands and knees. Lucy shouted something out. Hyde clambered to his feet and dove into the nearest alley. He bounced up the walls to the roofs. Hobnails clattered on brick behind him. He took off at a full sprint.

 _Quick question,_ Jekyll said. _Do you ever_ _think_ _about the things coming out of your mouth, or do you just prop your teeth open and hope?_

"You—are not— _helping!"_ Hyde panted. He risked a glance back. Lucy and six others were hot on his tail. _"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"_

_Whatever you do, don't go back to the Society or the house. I get the feeling fire might_ _become_ _involved._

"Then where—am I—supposed—to _go—_ you _prig_ _?"_

He leapt across an alley and lost his footing on the shingles opposite. He scrabbled at the slanted roof like a dog on hardwood. He tumbled off the side. He plummeted, screaming. Several things smashed upon impact. Hyde got up and kept running. There was an awful lot of pain, and possibly splinters. Shouts followed him, then a screech of metal on stone. He did not look back. He just ran. He tore around a corner, bounced off the building, and nearly cannoned headfirst into a brick wall.

Dead end.

Perhaps literally.

Hyde flattened himself against the wall in a panic. There was nowhere to go. Nothing to leap off of, the alley cluttered with laundry lines, he'd be caught like a fly in a spider's web, he was stuck, he was _fucked—_

Lucy and the others spilled around the corner into the end of the alleyway. Weapons flashed in the half light. Like lions, they went for him, fluid in their ferocity. There was a horrible screeching noise from overhead, a snapping and cracking.

Jasper dropped into the alleyway, snarling and monstrous, directly between Hyde and the Elephants. Broken laundry lines fell all around him. Teeth gleamed white in the darkness, claws glittered beetle-black. Hellfire glowed from his eyes. Five crossbows leveled at his chest.

For a moment, all was stillness.

"No," Lucy said. She put a hand on the nearest Elephant's crossbow, lowering it. Her eyes stayed fixed on Jasper. "It's not worth getting bit. Another time, ladies, another time."

One by one, the crossbows lowered. Jasper stayed where he was, growling, bristled and hunched. The Elephants backed away slowly. Lucy was the last to go.

"But I'll be back, you little fuck," she spat. Her arm snapped up. There was a silken sound.

Pain exploded through Hyde's arm. The world whited out for a second. He screamed. Jasper snarled and leapt forward. Hobnails clattered on cobble. Hyde clutched at the wall behind him, kicking his feet as though he could scramble back through the bricks and escape the pain. He couldn't feel his fingers.

He risked a look at his arm. The pain doubled the moment he saw the silvery bolt sticking out of his sleeve. He very nearly threw up. He had to take a moment, close his eyes and lean his head back against the wall, just breathe, just breathe, and if there was some pathetic whimpering interspersed with the breathing it wasn't like there was anyone around to hear. . . .

There was a padding of feet, and then hot, doggy breath ruffled his hair.

"That looks bad," Jasper said. Hyde's eyes snapped open just in time to see him reaching for the wound. He kicked Jasper in his barrel chest as hard as he could, sent him sprawling.

"It's fine!" Hyde snapped. "Don't _touch_ me, I can handle it!"

"Sorry," Jasper whimpered. Hyde turned away from him, huddling against the wall. It was half to protect the wound from further meddling and half to keep Jasper from seeing the tears streaming down his face.

With his teeth, he ripped into the sleeve of his shirt—fortunately she had missed the overcoat—and tore it off to reveal the wound, the bolt, an awful lot ofbright red blood. Black threads trailed out past the shaft, punched into his flesh. His stomach lurched at the sight. That spelled infection, necrosis, he could lose the arm—

 _Get a hold of yourself,_ Jekyll snapped, though his voice was thin with pain, too. _Don't pull it out or we'll bleed to death._ _Get back to the Society. We ought to have the right_ _materials_ _for_ _the Flesh Weaver_ _. It'll take time, and it will hurt, but it will be survivable._ _You like surviving, don't you?_

Hyde clenched his teeth. Through a massive effort of will, he managed to get to his feet. His head spun. Again, hecame very close to throwing up.

"What—what can I do to help?" Jasper said meekly.

"Get me back to the Society," Hyde said. His voice was hoarse. "Jekyll can patch me up."

Jasper's ears flattened back, and a few multicolored sparks spat from between his teeth.

"Right," he said. He sidled up to Hyde and offered one large, hairy arm. Hyde grappled onto it one-handed. Every movement sent another shock of pain through him. He grit his teeth and swore he would show no sign of weakness until he was properly alone.

He threw up three times on the way back.

* * *

 

Jasper got him to the laboratory door, and Hyde pried himself off and staggered inside without a word of preamble. Jasper tried to say something and Hyde slammed the door on him, locking it behind himself. The pain had gotten into his head, left him fuzzy and disoriented. He just wanted it to stop. He would've cut off his arm if it would've made it stop.

 _Keep going,_ Jekyll said. _Nearly there._ _This is the easy part._

"Shut up," Hyde said. He shoved off of the door and staggered to the lab bench. It was a mess. Everything was cluttered and blurry, swimming before his eyes.

 _The decoded notes are in the desk,_ Jekyll said. _Go to the desk._

Hyde took a few tottering steps back until he encountered the desk. There was blood on his fingers. He didn't bother wiping it off.

 _Open the top left drawer,_ Jekyll said. _Just look for the title. It should say "Flesh Weaver" at the top._ _Big letters, can't miss it._

Clumsy and sniffling, Hyde did as he was told. The pain was too much to bear. No one was watching now, no one but Jekyll, and there were already no secrets between them. He was free to collapse into a weeping, snotty mess if he felt like it.

It really fucking _hurt._

He found the papers, though only after smearing bloody fingerprints on nearly everything in the drawer. Jekyll continued to walk him through it, one step at a time. At least his voice was strained, too, even if it was only in Hyde's head. No composure could survive this kind of agony.The brewing was accomplished without antagonism from either side, perhaps simply because they were both in too much pain. The Flesh Weaver came out pale yellow and fizzing, and Hyde corked it, just in case it got knocked over. He sank to the floor and put his back against the lab bench.

This was the hard part.

Fingers trembling, Hyde grasped the end of the bolt. He was too sweaty to get a good grip on it. He wiped his hand off on his coat. He was shivering despite the warmth of the room, and his eyes wouldn't focus properly. On the second try, he managed to get a better grip on the bolt. He took three quick, deep breaths, squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth.

He yanked. Agony lanced through his arm, so intense it knocked all the air out of him, sent sparks dancing across his eyes. He threw up again, although it was more of a dry heave at this point. The alcohol was not helping with the pain—or maybe it was, in which case, thank _God_ he was still drunk _—_ but it was certainly helping to unsettle his stomach.

 _It's barbed,_ Jekyll said. His arm was pinned to Hyde's by the bolt, pain stitched through the both of them. _You'll have to push it out the other side._

"Bitch," Hyde hissed, his voice thick with pain. "Bitch, bitch, bitch, shitting hell, cunt on a stick, mother of _fuck_ _—"_

_The faster you do it, the less it will hurt._

Hyde put his thumb on the end of the bolt and pressed as hard as he could. The scream that tore out of him was like a banshee's. He writhed. His head slammed into the lab bench and he barely felt it. The point of the bolt tented out the skin on the back of his arm and then punched through. Hyde grabbed the bolt and yanked it the rest of the way out. The pain sharpened to a blinding white lance and then, finally, began to dull. He subsided against the wall, gasping for air and whimpering and trembling. Blood streamed down his arm. Fumbling, he grabbed up the potion from the bench and uncorked it with his teeth. He forced himself to pour it out slowly, one gush at a time. It fizzled like phenol against the edges of the wound. An unbearable itching kicked up inside his arm as the flesh stitched itself back together.

At long, long last, the pain subsided, and the itching resolved, and he was left drenched in sweat and shivering uncontrollably. He picked up the bolt with numb fingers, examined it through misty eyes. It was a cruel, steely thing, with three pairs of barbs hooked back along its length. Blood and stringy bits of flesh were still clinging to it.

"Keepin' that," Hyde mumbled. "That's a Lucy original, that is."

 _You are_ _unbelievable_ _,_ said Jekyll. _Now would you please change back? Someone will have heard the screaming._

By that point, Hyde was all to happy to get out of his body, to sink back into the muted mists of Jekyll. He heaved himself to his feet and whipped up a quick batch of the transformative serum. While it fizzed and shifted from red to green, there was a knock at the door.

 _"Dr. Jekyll?"_ It was Virginia Ito, sounding gravely concerned.

"One moment!" Hyde called back. He didn't sound much like Jekyll, but maybe through the door, and just two words, it should be fine, and even if it wasn't, Jekyll himself could smooth it over. He gulped down the potion and braced himself.

She knocked again.

 _"I heard screaming,"_ Virginia said. _"Jasper said Mr. Hyde had been hurt."_

Hyde looked down at his hands. He touched his chest. There was the warmth, the salty, bitter taste, the light-headedness—but where was the pain? Where were the wracking convulsions? What was _taking_ so long?

"Why isn't it working?" he hissed. Panic clawed up his spine. "Why isn't it _working?"_

 _I—I don't know,_ Jekyll stammered, the same terror in his voice. _I don't know!_

"What the fuck are we meant to _do?"_

The doorknob rattled. Hyde almost bit through his tongue.

 _"Henry, I'm starting to get concerned about all that silence,"_ Virginia warned.

"Fuck! Fuckity fuck!"

 _Just make another,_ Jekyll said hurriedly. _Quickly, a double dose. Now, now!_

Hyde's hands shook abominably. He spilled the salt all over the table. Virginia was pounding on the door. The second potion effervesced and turned green and Hyde quaffed it without a single breath for air.

 _"Dr. Jekyll, if you do not open this door, I will break it down,"_ Virginia threatened.

Pain struck through Hyde's chest, and he had never been happier to feel it. Agony consumed him, dropping him to his knees. No sound could pass his lips. Glowing ichor spilled from his eyes and mouth. He gasped in a breath, then two. He staggered to his feet, wiping his face on his coat. Said coat was then torn off and flung across the room. He checked the cheval glass.

Henry Jekyll looked back at him, disheveled and exhausted. Hyde hung over his shoulder, a mist, a dissipating fog.

Jekyll rubbed at his face, let out a breath, and opened the door.

Virginia paused with one leg cocked, as though she had been about to kick her way in. She placed her foot back on the floor and straightened her skirts. She cleared her throat.

"There you are," she said. Her eyes went wide, brow furrowed. "My God, what's happened to _you?"_

"Ah," said Jekyll, looking down at the sleeve Hyde had torn off to get at the bolt. There was also a great deal of blood still on him. "Mr. Hyde was . . . a touch out of sorts. I'm not injured, not to worry. It's all his."

"Good lord," said Virginia. "Is he all right?"

"He will be," said Jekyll. "I've managed to get him mostly patched up and calmed down. I apologize for not answering the door sooner, he was being difficult."

"I see," said Virginia. She let out a decisive sigh. "Well, if there's anything I can do, let me know."

"I certainly will," he promised. "Thank you for the offer. You said Jasper told you the situation?"

"Yes," she said. "In a manner of speaking. It was more a panicked sobbing than a telling."

"Ah," Jekyll said again. "Well, please let him know that all should be well, and that Mr. Hyde and I both appreciate his efforts. I'm given to understand he saved Hyde's life."

 _"Did_ he," said Virginia, eyebrows raising. "Well, we shall have to give him a proper hero's welcome. What about you?"

"Staying with my patient," said Jekyll. "He should be well by morning, but I shouldn't like to leave him alone until then."

"Of course," said Virginia. "It seems like it was quite the ordeal."

"Indeed."

"Do take care, Henry."

"You as well."

She walked away, and he shut the door. For a moment, he stood there staring at the wood grain, thinking nothing, swaying with the beating of his heart.

"That," he said to himself, "was too close."

 _You're telling me,_ said Hyde.


	8. Chapter 8

"Gabriel, I swear, you are going to be the death of me," Lanyon said, rubbing his eyebrow. Light was pouring into the conservatory, the first real sunlight they'd had in days. Two glasses of cabernet sauvignon sat on the table. Utterson had so far resisted drinking any of his, which drove home how serious he found the whole situation.

"It's gone on long enough," Utterson said. "Something must be done."

"What _can_ be done? If Mr. Hyde eludes us and Jekyll refuses to listen to us, what else is there?"

"I don't know," said Utterson. "But something must be done."

"Yes yes, I agree with you, clearly it's all highly irregular and unpleasant—"

"He's written a will, Robert."

Lanyon pulled up short.

"He's done _what?"_

"He's written a will," Utterson repeated. "Didn't I tell you? He gave it to me yesterday. It's a troubling document, although I'm legally forbidden to tell you why."

"If I were to assume its troublesomeness had to do with a certain Mr. Hyde?"

"Legally I would be forbidden to tell you if you were right."

"Ah," said Lanyon. He had a sip of his wine and stared out the window. "Did he mention _why_ he'd written this will?"

"As a precaution, he said."

"You don't believe him?"

"I don't know that I do. I'm certain he was being dishonest on some point, but I don't know what it was."

Lanyon shook his head. "Yes, welcome to my past _year,"_ he sighed. "He's been keeping something back ever since that Hyde fellow turned up. It all hinges on him, and it's got no right to."

"Something must be done," Utterson said for the third time.

"But _what,_ Gabriel? What is there left to _do?"_

Utterson was quiet for a while, wiggling his mustache.

"Hyde must be findable, somewhere," he concluded at last. "We must simply be more persistent. If he be Mr. Hyde, we shall be—"

"Gabriel, please, have mercy," Lanyon said, putting a hand over his eyes. Utterson grumbled, stymied.

"We know he calls at the Society frequently," he said instead. "We could wait there for him. Perhaps he visits Jekyll at home—we could inquire with Poole."

Lanyon shuddered. _"Don't_ make me think of that horrid creature hanging about in Henry's _home,"_ he said, his lip curling. "I shall be ill."

"Then I will ask Poole, and if the answer is yes, I won't tell you," said Utterson. "Something is profoundly _wrong,_ Robert. It has fallen to us to put it right. If we fail, we may lose Henry completely."

"Lose him to _what?"_ Lanyon said, frowning.

Utterson shrugged. "I wouldn't like to speculate."

Letting out a long sigh, Lanyon shook his head. "Neither would I, if I'm honest. All right—what shall we do with Mr. Hyde once we find him? I _have_ admittedly enlisted the help of the Society's cook to help net him."

"Oh?" said Utterson.

"Yes," said Lanyon. "I don't know that she'll come up with anything, but I asked her to send him my way if she couldn't convince him to leave Jekyll alone. Which I somehow doubt she will be able to do."

"Hm," said Utterson.

There was a moment of quiet. Utterson frowned, and Lanyon sipped his cabernet, and a cloud drifted over the sun.

"Robert," Utterson said. "I have had an idea."

"You don't sound terribly pleased about it."

"I'm not," said Utterson. "Would you like to hear it anyway?"

"Yes, I think so."

"My idea is this: we report Hyde as the cause of the fire regardless of Jekyll's wishes."

Lanyon stared at him.

"My dearest Gabriel, and I mean this in the kindest possible way, but have you lost your mind?" he said.

"It was only an idea," said Utterson.

"Henry would never forgive us."

"Perhaps not," said Utterson. "But Hyde would be forced to leave him be, whether from behind bars or on the lam."

"Quite frankly, it's worse than your first idea," Lanyon said. "I was rather looking forward to having Hyde roughed up a bit, and there's no guarantee Jekyll would ever put together the fact that we hired the—the rougher-uppers. He'd know we were behind it _instantly_ if Hyde were to be arrested."

"Which do you find more distasteful," Utterson said. "Having an innocent man arrested, or having him beaten in the streets?"

"He's _hardly_ innocent."

"And yet you must still have a preference."

Lanyon chewed on it for some time, swishing it between his cheeks.

"I suppose having the police out for him would be more effective," said Lanyon. "Although doubtless the man has other enemies than us who could reliably be blamed for an—incident."

"Very well," said Utterson. "Since your moral compass requires recalibrating, I'll do the decent thing and admit I was wrong. I made my initial suggestion under the influence of a not inconsiderable amount of Claret. It was a foolish suggestion, and cruel. If Hyde is imprisoned, his name can eventually be cleared. I will take the case on myself, if need be. He cannot be un-beaten, Robert."

Lanyon flushed. He squirmed in his seat, suddenly quite taken with the view out the windows.

"But Henry—"

"Is Henry's regard more important to you than his wellbeing?" Utterson interrupted.

Lanyon shut his mouth. Utterson had never, in their ten year acquaintance, been so frankly and clearly annoyed with him.

"You're right," Lanyon mumbled. "You're right, of course." He rubbed his face. The wine was sitting uneasy in his stomach. He set his glass aside and rested his head on his hand.

"I know that it's difficult," Utterson said. "He's my friend, too. But he may come to understand, in time. And even if he doesn't—"

He made a restrained, helpless gesture. Lanyon understood what he meant.

"Even if he doesn't," he agreed.

A silence fell. Lanyon laughed to himself, although not particularly with amusement.

"I should have listened to you, Gabriel," he said. "We really ought _not_ to have meddled."

"Perhaps not," said Utterson. "But now that we have, we must see it through."

"You're convinced, then?"

"Committed."

"Perhaps we _all_ ought to be committed," Lanyon muttered. "Whatever happened to your inclining to Cain's heresy?"

"That," Utterson said, "was before I had seen the Devil."

"I would hardly call Mr. Hyde a devil."

"I wasn't talking about Hyde," said Utterson.

* * *

 

Rachel knocked on Jekyll's door and smoothed out her skirts. She wasn't sure what sort of reception she would receive—there was no telling if Lanyon had spoken with him yet, and even if he had, whether Jekyll had taken the recommendations to heart. She might find herself summarily thrown out. She wanted to believe that was out of character for Jekyll, but he'd been acting so strangely of late that she wasn't sure what his character actually _was_ anymore.

"Come in!" he called. Rachel slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

The lab was slightly neater than usual, as though it had undergone a recent clean-up. It was still messy, but in a way that indicated some sort of personally comprehensible order. Jekyll was at his desk, laying aside a pen and paper.

"Dr. Jekyll," Rachel said, by way of greeting.

"Miss Pidgley," he said, matching her stiff formality note for note. "What can I do for you?"

"Er, well," she said. She kicked herself in the ankle. She was supposed to be _assertive_ about this. "I know I _said_ I quit, but . . . I'd like to un-quit, if possible."

"Oh," said Jekyll, looking pleasantly surprised. "Yes, of course. To be honest, I was rather hoping you would."

"Well," said Rachel. "Great."

Jekyll made a face. His shoulders slumped, and he fiddled with his pen.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Rachel," he said. "I'm sorry about . . . Jasper. It was unfair of me and it won't happen again. I know how you feel about him, and—"

"It's not about him," she said. Jekyll looked up at her, perplexed. She went on, consequences be damned. "It's about you. It's about the fact that I asked you to help me, and you said you would, and then the first chance you got, you went behind my back."

"That's not . . . _precisely_ how it happened," Jekyll said, sounding strained. "It wasn't an intentional slight against you, Rachel."

"No, I know," she said. "It was just that you completely forgot about promising to help me. It was just that I mattered so little to you that you didn't even think about it."

"Rachel—"

"It's not about Jasper," she said again. "It's about the fact that somebody I thought was my friend clearly wasn't. I don't know why I'm surprised. As if somebody like you would ever be friends with somebody like me."

"Don't make this a class thing, Rachel, it's not a class thing," Jekyll pleaded.

"Then what sort of a thing is it?"

"It's a _Henry Jekyll is an idiot_ sort of thing," he said. "I am deeply sorry that I hurt you. I truly am. I understand if you would like to keep our future interactions as minimal and professional as possible, I couldn't possibly blame you for that. But please, _please_ understand that I don't think any less of you because of your station. I'm just—an idiot, Rachel. I'm just an idiot."

"Not arguing with you there," she said nastily.

Jekyll sighed and rubbed his eyebrow with two fingers. She saw the quick, perhaps involuntary flick of his eyes to the bottle of wine on his desk. She was briefly tempted to pick it up and take it out with her, for reasons she preferred not to articulate.

"Was there anything else?" he asked.

"Not really."

"All right. For financial purposes, we'll behave as though your employment was uninterrupted. You were due for some time off anyway."

"That's very kind of you," she said diplomatically.

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone," he said. "Please. I know how gossip spreads in this place, but I can't afford this getting out. Not just for my sake, but for Jasper's."

Rachel lifted her chin and braced herself.

"Then I'd appreciate it if you could tell Mr. Hyde I'd like to speak with him."

A series of expressions flicked across Jekyll's face like pages of a book flipping under someone's thumb—surprise, respect, annoyance, resignation—and he inclined his head and folded his hands.

"What should I say it's about?" he asked.

"That's not your business," said Rachel, although her voice shook and her knees were going to give out any second.

Jekyll raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth turning up.

"All right," he said. "I'll tell him you're looking for him."

"Good!" said Rachel. "And I won't tell anyone you've been snogging boys half your age."

He let out a long, tired sigh.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hollow with pain.

"You're disgusting," she told him, irritated by his refusal to be anything but decent to her.

"Well, at least we agree on _one_ thing," he said. He turned his gaze back to his paperwork. "Good morning, Miss Pidgley."

Rachel left without a further word. He didn't deserve the courtesy.

How _dare_ he make her feel sorry for him.

* * *

 

Most of the day passed in a blur of activity as everyone scrambled to get things together for the exhibition. Several people were now of the opinion that Frankenstein and the monster had left London altogether and were writing them off as a loss. Others were whispering that Moreau's body had never been found after the fire. Luckett and Sinett were in a huff about that one, because Moreau's body _had_ been found, it had just been very very crispy (as had his flamethrower, which is what they were actually upset about). The lodgers who had been taken in by the police were back at work like nothing had ever happened, although the tales of their time in prison were rapidly inflating. Mr. Hyde, too, had apparently had some sort of run-in that had left him screaming bloody murder at five o'clock in the morning. According to Virginia, there had been a truly disturbing amount of blood, and it was only thanks to Jasper that he wasn't dead.

She didn't see Jasper around anywhere. She would have liked to know that _he_ was all right, too.

From needling a few of the other lodgers, she discovered that he was mainly staying in his flat, tending to his creatures—or so they supposed. Evidently he had been singularly uncommunicative last night. Rachel tried not to worry about it, but in the end decided it was better to look foolish than to risk letting Jasper suffer in silence. One of the benefits of being day manager was that, should any of the lodgers have current or former non-Society addresses, she was privy to them. Under normal circumstances, she would never have visited a lodger at home, as it was a serious breach of privacy, but these were not normal circumstances and she was not taking any chances. She packed up a large picnic basket full of food, shrugged on a heavy coat, and went to visit him.

* * *

 

Even if Rachel hadn't known Jasper's flat number, it would have been impossible to miss. The noise was the first giveaway, shortly followed by the smell. When she knocked, there was an explosion of hooting and screeching and yapping that could only have been exceeded by a zoo on fire.

Jasper answered the door already looking apologetic. When he saw Rachel, he blushed bright red and gulped.

"Oh," he said. "Er. Hello."

"Hi," she said. "Um."

They stared at each other for a moment. Rachel lifted up the picnic basket.

"Brought you lunch," she said.

"You're very—" he said, and gestured. "Red."

Rachel looked down at herself. The coat was, indeed, very red, and here she was with a picnic basket, and there _he_ was being a werewolf—

"That wasn't intentional!" she blurted, boiling hot. "I wasn't—I really wasn't—"

He smiled at her. "We can go someplace less noisy," he offered.

"That sounds good," she said, flooded with relief.

"You can actually get to the roof from my window—here, I'll take that—"

Jasper gingerly took the basket from her arm, then ducked back into his room. Rachel followed, biting her lips. The animal smell was overpowering inside, the clutter immense. There was a little stove that had been extensively and shoddily modified into some sort of makeshift chemistry set. There were bags of seed and boxes and crates, newspapers strewn all over the floor. Two dozen different cages rattled and clanked as Jasper moved to the window. Rachel noted that half of his bed was currently occupied by a mournful-looking serpopard, its long neck curled over its own back. Jasper stepped up on the bed to open the window.

"'Scuse me, Mina," he said, mincing around the serpopard. He shoved the window open and climbed out. He scrambled upward and out of sight with impressive dexterity for a man carrying a picnic basket.

Rachel picked her way over. The serpopard blinked up at her with huge, soulful eyes and licked its chops. The tufted tip of its tail twitched hopefully.

"Er, hi," said Rachel. She picked her way around the creature and stuck her torso out the window. There was a sturdy drainpipe right next to the window, leading upward. Jasper was peeking out over the ledge of the roof. Rachel glanced down.

The fall was truly precipitous.

"It's really not difficult," Jasper called down to her. "The pipe's very sturdy."

"Uh-huh?" said Rachel, who was not wording very well.

"You won't fall," Jasper said.

"Uh-huh," said Rachel. She tore her eyes off the ground and mustered her courage. She planted one foot on the windowsill and reached out for the drainpipe. It was farther away than she would have liked—Jasper, in all his lanking glory, probably had no difficulty with the distance.

Rachel was forced to make a leap of faith.

It was more like a lurch, and based more in spite than in faith, but she did make it to the drainpipe without having to ask for help, which was the only thing that mattered. She clambered up, her skirts hitched up around her hips so that she wouldn't step on them and go plummeting to her death.

Jasper offered his hand to her when she got close, and Rachel's confidence was shaken enough that she accepted it. He helped pull her up the last few feet and over the ledge, and soon she was standing next to him, her hand in his, a little sweaty and a little breathless and very alone.

"Well that was easy," she said, like an idiot.

"Yeah," he said. "I mean."

They both looked anywhere but each other. Rachel cleared her throat. Jasper rubbed the back of his neck. He took a deep breath like he was about to say something difficult.

Instead, he kissed her hand.

Rachel went so hot she must have glowed. She ducked her head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled so wide it made her cheeks hurt.

"Oh," she said, her voice high-pitched and thin. "Thank you."

"I'm—welcome," said Jasper. "Wait—no, that—"

Rachel burst out laughing. He joined in, obviously still embarrassed. She tugged on his hand and stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

"You _are_ welcome," she said.

He grinned, a great big goofy grin that was prettier than all the stars in heaven. Rachel found herself grinning right back.

"So um," he said. "Food? And stuff?"

"Food and stuff," she said.

After some awkward shuffling, they both sat down. Jasper flipped open the picnic basket and was immediately absorbed, rifling through its contents.

"So, um," Rachel said, hands clasped in her lap, eyes cast skyward. "What's your like, field? In science. I know you've got the whole wolf thing but that's not really an occupation."

"Oh!" said Jasper. He had found the roast beef sandwich and was busily unwrapping it. "I'm a crypto-biologist. That's what all the creatures are about."

"So like, what Miss Lavender and Mrs. Cantilupe do?"

"Ssssssort of," Jasper said. "They're more into the whole organism, I'm into the . . . the mechanism. Sort of a thing. Like why are some animals more, er, cryptish than others? What is it makes them different? On a sort of, very small level."

"Oooooh," said Rachel. "This might be a stupid question, but is that why you got bit?"

"Yeah," said Jasper, sheepish. He took a huge bite out of the sandwich and continued talking out the side of his mouth. "No' like, on purpofe, juft, acfidentally. Whilst doing ovver ftuff."

"Right, no, yeah, of course," said Rachel, rolling her eyes and laughing like that _hadn't_ been what she was thinking.

"Bu' anyway, it'f pretty well acfepted that like—" he swallowed and wiped his mouth on his hand— "it's got something to do with bacteria, probably. You know germ theory?"

"I live with a load of scientists, of _course_ I know germ theory," Rachel said, bristling.

"Right, sorry, sorry, that was—yeah, sorry," he said, blushing. "Well. It's got something to do with that. I was going to try and make my own microscope but . . . never could get the lenses right."

"Oof, that's rough," said Rachel.

Jasper had dove back into his sandwich, and there was a bit of a lull. Rachel went for a rifle through the basket and got out the swing top bottle of tea which, despite its swaddling, had gone lukewarm. She was starting to wish she'd brought something a little stronger.

"What about you?" Jasper asked.

"What—what _about_ me?" Rachel said, thrown.

He gestured. "I mean, I know you're like, the day manager and cook and butcher and everything, but—what d'you like, do? _Not—_ sorry, that sounded really bad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like—but like what d'you—what're your . . . dreams and aspirations and stuff."

He finished at a mumble. Rachel nudged him with an elbow.

"I dunno," she admitted. "I used to want to do sciencey stuff, but then I found out I didn't much like it. I like the people, and everything, don't get me wrong, but it just . . . wasn't for me. I thought for a bit I might want to do like, library work or something, but that wasn't right either. I've sort of been bouncing round for a while, and I happened to land at the Society, and—I dunno. It's not glamorous or anything, but the people are good and the pay's good and I've got enough time off to do stuff I like doing."

"What d'you like doing?" Jasper asked.

"Well," said Rachel, flattered by the sincerity of his interest. "I—do loads of stuff. Like . . . read. I like to read."

"What sorts of things d'you read?"

"Oh, everything," she said, dismissive. "I . . . actually write a bit, too."

"Really?" said Jasper, as though this was an impressive and esoteric talent. "What sorts of things d'you _write?"_

"Er, well . . . ever read Poe's Auguste Dupin stories?"

"No," said Jasper. "What're they about?"

"They're like, about this detective, only he's only detecting for fun, he's not a policeman or anything," said Rachel. "He's very rich and very bored and very brilliant. I sort of fell in love with them when I was a kid. At first I wanted to be a detective, but—I dunno, it didn't work out for loads of reasons. So I just started writing my own stories, instead. Mine . . . mine are about this woman, she's named Halima, she runs a private detective business in London and solves all sorts of crimes and stuff. Like, by herself. It started out just normal stuff like murders but then once I started working at the Society I thought it—it might be neat to have her solve, like, science crimes. Like with monsters and things."

"That sounds amazing!" Jasper said. "D'you think I could read them, at some point?"

"I, pffff, well, I dunno," said Rachel, thinking with considerable discomfort of the story where Halima had valiantly slain a serial-killing werewolf from the sewers. "They're not any good."

"I've barely read anything except textbooks my whole life," Jasper said earnestly. "I wouldn't know the difference between good stories and bad stories. I'm sure I'd really like them no matter what."

In that instant, Rachel fell more in love with him than she'd ever been with anyone before in her life. She turned her face away and punched him in the arm.

"You're only saying that," she said.

"I'm not," he said.

Rachel couldn't find anything to say, so instead she just leaned over and bumped him with her shoulder, then handed him the tea. He bumped her in turn, then accepted the tea, took a long drink of it, and handed it back. Rachel had a sip, too, and definitely _not_ because his lips had just been on the bottle, where hers were now, and it was almost like a kiss. . . .

"I um, I heard you were a bit of a hero last night," she said, before she could get to thinking too much.

"Oh," said Jasper. "Yeah. I guess."

"They said you saved Hyde's life," said Rachel.

"I—I guess," said Jasper. He was all hunched in on himself, like he was embarrassed. She wrinkled her nose at him.

"Don't get all humble about it," she said. "Hyde's _inevitably_ going to twist it to where he's the hero of the whole thing and you were barely involved. That's what he does."

"I really didn't do much, honestly," Jasper said. "Honestly I was going home because the moon was up but . . . there were six of them and—"

 _"Six of them?"_ Rachel cried.

"Yeah, and they had like, knives and crossbows, but he didn't have anything so far as I knew, so—"

"You fought _six people?"_

"No, I didn't fight anybody, I just sort of . . . stood there looking scary, I s'pose," he said.

"While they pointed knives and crossbows at you."

"It's not like they were silver or anything. Werewolves are awfully hard to kill, it's one of the benefits."

 _"Ugh,_ you're ridiculous," said Rachel. She took his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. "You're like a proper hero, and you're sitting up here all _it was nothing."_

"I honestly _didn't_ do much," said Jasper.

"Obviously it was enough," said Rachel. "And it's more than nearly anybody would do for Hyde. Lucky you were there, honestly."

"Y-yeah," said Jasper. "Lucky."

Rachel took her head off his arm and frowned at him.

"Why d'you say it like that?" she said.

"I—it's maybe not _completely_ luck," said Jasper, squirming.

"How so?"

"I—I sort of. . . ."

"Sort of what?"

"Sort of . . . ran into him at the Blackfog Bazaar," said Jasper, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at his own knees. "And I might've . . . tagged along with him for a bit. Until he got chased out. By the Forty Elephants. At which point I sort of chased them. Because—yeah."

"Aww," said Rachel. "Honestly I don't blame you. From what I've heard, Blackfog's a madhouse. I'd've latched onto a familiar face, too."

"Mm-hm," said Jasper. He went back in the picnic basket and came up with an apple. Rachel watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"So the Forty Elephants, huh?" Rachel said.

"Yeah," said Jasper. "Only there weren't forty of them. Just six, from what I saw."

"And they went after Hyde?"

"Yep."

"How come?"

"Dunno. He went off to flirt with one of them and then they started chasing him."

"Hah! Serves him right," said Rachel.

"One of them shot him, Rachel," Jasper said, put upon.

"Wait, seriously? With—"

"A crossbow. There was blood all over the place. I can't half still smell it," he said, rubbing his nose with his thumb.

Rachel reconsidered her approach.

"That must've been pretty terrifying," she said.

"I thought I was going to die," Jasper said earnestly. "I saw him start running and they all started chasing him and I wasn't nearly as fast, and then when I got up on the roofs the moon was up and I—sort of lost track of some stuff, my head gets funny when I turn sometimes, but then they were running and . . . I dunno. You've got to chase things that run from you. Next thing I knew it was all crossbows and knives."

She hesitated, then linked her arm with his and kissed his cheek again.

"I'm glad you didn't die," she said.

He looked over at her, great big orange eyes and that soft puppy smile.

"Me too," he said.


	9. Chapter 9

_Now remember, this is for business purposes_ _only._

_"You're_ for business purposes only," Hyde shot back, buttoning up his waistcoat.

 _I—yes, that's also true, but I don't want us getting_ _stuck_ _anywhere. Last time was too close._ _Until I can_ _work_ _out what went wrong—_

"Yeah, yeah, give it a rest," said Hyde. "Go sleep, or whatever it is you do when you're not bothering me."

 _This is_ _serious,_ _Hyde._

"Everything's bloody serious with you. I'm not having any of it."

 _If there are irregularities with the potion, it_ _spells_ _trouble for you, too,_ said Jekyll. _Even_ _if_ _we're only building up a tolerance, there could be other side-effects. We've been lucky so far, but luck's all it is._

"Yeah, one spot of bad luck," said Hyde. He slipped his shoes on, popped his hat on his head. "Didn't take a double this time, did it? Probably just the stress."

 _Possibly,_ said Jekyll. _Or it could be more serious. After tonight, we'll_ _have to_ _take a hiatus, possibly a long one. Certainly until the exhibition's done with. I'll have to think of tests to run, to make sure nothing's seriously amiss. God only knows the effects of long-term use, something that traumatic to the system—_

"Oy, have the nervous breakdowns on your own time," Hyde said, scowling at him. Jekyll was hanging about in the cheval glass, sitting curled up with his elbows on his knees.

 _I am_ _not_ _having a nervous breakdown,_ Jekyll snapped, glaring at him. _I am being practical._ _It does neither of us any_ _favors_ _if we die from organ failure._

"Oh yeah? Says the man who was poisoning his own wine not two days ago."

 _And next time I'll drink it,_ Jekyll threatened. _I am taking an immense risk, letting you do this. You'll only hurt yourself if you decide to ruin it._

"Not true, I'll hurt you, too," said Hyde. He shook out his overcoat and draped it over his shoulders. "My very favorite pastime."

 _We don't have time for this_ _._ _We_ _'ve got to_ _find out what it is Rachel wants with you. I have a bad feeling—_

"A feeling? You? I don't believe it."

 _You are_ _not helping._

"Of course I'm not helping," Hyde scoffed. "I'm going to do whatever I damn well please, and there's nothing you can do about it. Now if you'll _excuse_ me, I've got a meeting that _you're_ not invited to."

 _That's exactly wh_ _ere_ _I was asking you to_ _g_ _o!_

"Not invited~!" Hyde sang. He threw open the window and hopped out onto the roof opposite. The skyline was riddled with white columns of steam, pillars to hold up the dull orange clouds overhead. Hyde danced from rooftop to rooftop, quick as a cat, light as the mists. A dazzle of noise rose up from below, voices and music, the clatter of wheels and hooves, the crackle of fires. Hyde flitted above it all, a bat, a phantom, the spirit—

 _Of excessive repetition, apparently,_ Jekyll sighed.

—of _London at night!_ Nothing could compare, nothing even came close. The city was a monster, huge and sprawling, the dull roar of its lifeblood ever-present and ubiquitous. The streets were its veins, pulsing with light, driven by some beating heart hidden deep beneath the earth. It was a grimy, ugly thing, riddled with parasites, but it was _his._

All too soon, he came to the bakery window. It was propped open, spilling out light and the smell of fresh-baked pastries. Hyde crouched in the shadows for a time, watching, waiting. Rachel bustled about inside. He could faintly hear her singing to herself. He waited until her back was turned, then slipped through the window and tip-toed up behind her, grinning with insatiable mischief. He crept up closer, closer, just inches behind her. . . .

 _"Boo!"_ he cried.

Rachel screamed. A rolling pin scythed towards his head. He ducked just in time. His hat took the full force of the blow as the rolling pin whistled through the air. Hyde popped back up, affronted.

"That's my hat!" he said.

"God's sake, don't _do_ that," Rachel said, sagging with relief. She prodded him in the chest with the rolling pin and picked up his hat off the ground. He snatched it from her and dusted it off. It was completely flattened. "I could've _killed_ you."

"No you couldn't," he said, climbing up onto the island counter in the center of the room. "I'm much too quick. If it came down to a _real_ fight, you'd be dead in seconds. _Less_ than a second!"

"You're adorable," Rachel said.

"I am _deadly!"_ Hyde cried. "I am a force of nature! I am—don't _laugh_ at me! Stop that! You won't be laughing when you're dead!"

Rachel folded nearly in half, wheezing. Hyde folded his arms and pretended she wasn't there, his nose turned up. He spotted a lovely plate of fresh-baked pastries and his ire was instantly forgotten.

"I heard _you_ almost got dead last night," Rachel remarked, while Hyde slowly extended himself along the counter.

"Wildly exaggerated," he said, subsiding onto his elbow. "I had everything completely under control."

 _"Really?_ I heard it ended with you wailing like a baby in Jekyll's lab."

"Well you heard wrong," Hyde sniffed. "Who told you these things? They were lying to you."

He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. A little push with one toe inched him closer to the pastries.

"Oh, everyone," said Rachel, grinning. "Apparently you could've woken the dead. Jasper said you got shot, I'm sure it must have hurt oh so very much, you poor thing."

"Keep your pity off of me, that's disgusting," he said, flapping a hand at her. "And yes, it was excruciating. Lesser men would have died."

 _"Are_ there any lesser men? Only you're _very_ small."

"Someday I am going to strangle you and it shall be immensely satisfying," Hyde said, scowling. "Your eyes will bug out all horrible and you'll turn blue."

Rachel snorted. "As if you could," she said. "I don't think your tiny hands could get all the way round my throat."

"That— _youuuuu—!"_

She laughed at him. He scooted closer to the pastries while her eyes were scrunched shut.

"God, you're so much fun to tease," she said. "Where're you off to tonight, then? Blackfog again?"

"I was given to understand _you_ wanted to see _me,"_ he said. "Apparently just to insult me. I don't know why I bothered."

"Oh," said Rachel, sobering. "Right. That message got through already, did it?"

"Obviously."

"I s'pose you talk to him all the time."

"Personal assistant," Hyde reminded her. He was almost within snatching distance of the pastries, and they did look heavenly. . . .

"You're never," she said.

"Believe what you will, love, I don't care," said Hyde. _"Personal assistant's_ what it says on my paycheck, not much else worth talking about."

"Why _don't_ you ever talk about it?" Rachel asked, with a fearsome perspicacity. "I would've thought you'd take every opportunity to . . . like, embarrass him."

"My dear!" Hyde said, delighted at the prospect. "I was only trying to spare _you_ from embarrassment. I could go _on_ and _on_ about Henry. For example, did you know he's got absolutely no gag reflex whatsoever?"

 _Why_ _would you tell her that?_ Jekyll exclaimed, tearing his hair out.

"It's true," Hyde added, waggling his eyebrows and grinning lasciviously.

 _I don't_ _care_ _if it's true, why would you_ _tell_ _her that?!_

"Never mind!" Rachel said, both hands pressed over her eyes. "Never mind, I changed my mind, I don't want to know!"

Hyde cackled and popped one of the pastries in his mouth. Rachel slapped him on the wrist. He gave her a friendly kick in the rear. She jumped and then scowled at him with steam coming out of her ears.

"Careful what you wish for," he said, grinning. "Speaking of a notable lack of gag reflexes, how's your wolf-boy?"

"He's—what?" said Rachel.

"Nothing!" Hyde said, the very picture of innocence.

 _If she stabs you, I'm letting you bleed to death,_ Jekyll said.

"Don't make jokes like that, it's not funny," Rachel said, turning away and pouting.

"Oh, _what,"_ said Hyde, rolling his eyes. "Is the kitchen princess jealous of somebody? Listen, love, if you didn't get there quick enough, that's your _own_ bloody fault."

"Stop it," she snapped. "Just because _you've_ never been jealous a day in your life."

"I have too," said Hyde. "I am the very _embodiment_ of jealousy. A green-eyed monster, that's what they call it, and they call it that because of me! You've only never seen it."

"Yeah? Then how's it make you feel to know _your_ Henry's been snogging _my_ wolf-boy?"

 _Well,_ Jekyll remarked coldly. _It seems the_ _treachery goes_ _both ways._

Hyde gasped, all a-sparkle, ignoring him. He propped his chin on his fingers and kicked his feet.

"He _has?"_ he trilled. "What a juicy juicy little tidbit! Tell me _everything,_ do~"

"You're not _upset?"_

"Hah! Not a bit. Better he gets all that gooey shit out of his system. Now come on, you can't lead with something like that and _not_ tell me the rest, it's not fair!"

"I can't," Rachel said, folding her arms. She turned her back on him and tossed her head imperiously. "I promised."

"You _promised?"_ said Hyde. "Who'd you _promise?"_

"Jasper," she said. "And Dr. Jekyll."

"Ah, fuck Jekyll," said Hyde, waving a hand.

"I'm not telling you anything. I've already said more than I should."

"Then why not say the rest?" Hyde purred.

"Why don't you go away?" Rachel retorted.

Hyde sat up and crossed his legs, pouting.

"Fine, _don't_ tell me," he said. "But I'm not leaving until you _do_ tell me what you wanted with me. Unless you just asked to see me for the sake of squeezing something out of Henry. Which I couldn't ~possibly~ blame you for."

 _I hate you so much,_ Jekyll said.

Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed. She leaned against the brick oven, looking less stubborn and more put out.

"You know Jekyll's posh friends?" she said.

"As little as possible," said Hyde.

"Yeah, well, they asked me to ask you to clear off," said Rachel.

"As if," said Hyde, rolling his eyes.

"Thought you might say that," said Rachel. "In _that_ case, Dr. Lanyon wants to meet with you, probably to be stuffy at you until you drop dead."

"Can't wait," Hyde drawled. He hopped to his feet and hung off the pot rack one-handed. "Maybe I'll drop in on him now. Might as well, while I'm out and about."

"It's the middle of the night," Rachel said.

Hyde grinned. "Yeah, maybe I'll get to see him in his jammies."

"Maybe you'll get the peelers called on you."

"Like I give a damn about them," said Hyde. "Couldn't catch me if they tried."

He jumped down off of the counter and immediately bounded back up onto the windowsill.

"One day they _are_ going to catch you and I'm going to laugh," Rachel said, coming to stand by him.

"Nah," said Hyde. "I'm the spirit of London at night, love. _Nobody_ can catch me. Not even the bloody Forty Elephants could catch me!"

"And now I'll laugh all the harder," said Rachel, a smile tugging at her lips.

Hyde pouted at her, then yanked one of her pigtails, then leapt out the window to the sound of her offended shouting.

* * *

 

It was only a brief jaunt to Lanyon's place, and the night was young. Hyde was tempted to drop in at a pub or two, but his vanity got the better of him. What fun it would be, to ambush Lanyon in his quaint little home! What a delight, to see him all out of sorts! He could only imagine the pathetic, meaningless threats he might employ, the childish frustration on his silly little face when none of it did any good. He'd laugh in Lanyon's face and probably make him cry. There was no getting rid of Hyde, and Lanyon would soon know it. Maybe he'd steal the silver, while he was there, just to make a point.

It was harder getting around Cavendish by the rooftops, but he did still manage. The houses were farther apart, but some had trees and outbuildings that could be used to great effect. It was a challenge, a new game, and a delightful one at that.

Hyde found Lanyon's house and perched on the rooftop across from it, taking an inventory of the place. There were far too many windows, at least six chimneys, a glass conservatory off of one side. A couple of policemen were loitering not far off, smoking. Several of the lights were still on inside, although all the curtains were drawn. A couple more policemen rounded the block, nodding to the first pair. Hyde skirted along the peak of his current roof to get an angle on the other side of the house.

Four more policemen were hanging about in back.

The kernel of Jekyll-ness sitting in the center of Hyde's chest went so cold that it burned. Numbness radiated from it, like his ribs had been filled up with ice. Hyde didn't like it. He could feel himself being dragged under, subordinated to the pressurized rage Jekyll had been amassing for decades. It wasn't fair. It was stupid and vicious, consuming, smothering, utterly unbelievable, treachery of the highest caliber—

That posh fucker had sold him _out_ _._

Hyde clenched his fists, blazing with violence. He'd smash in the head of every bloody peeler down there, torch the bastard's shiny white house, burn down the whole fucking neighborhood, burn them all, burn _everything._ Lanyon would rue the day he'd ever crossed Edward Hyde. He'd be screaming it in Hell.

 _Stop,_ Jekyll said. _You have to change back. We'll be caught like this. I'll handle Robert._

"I'll kill him," Hyde hissed. "I'll beat his bloody head in!"

 _No you will not,_ said Jekyll. _Back to the Society. Now._

Blistered by the heat of his own wrath, Hyde whirled from the house and darted back along the rooftops. He kept low, ducking between chimneys and gables. His ears were pricked for the slightest sound of pursuit, his eyes flicking over every twitching silhouette. Gone was his leaping enthusiasm, gone the visceral joy of the night. Now it was fear, now it was frenzy, now it was the untempered fury of self-preservation. The hissing pillars of steam and smoke hid paler terrors, and in every velvet shadow he could see the cloak of death. When the bristling minarets and smoke-stacks of the Society rose from the skyline, he scrambled towards them with single-minded determination. Just ten more blocks and he would be safe, five more, three, he could see the open window of the laboratory, warm red light from inside only interrupted by—

 _Oh, hell,_ said Jekyll.

"That's all you have to fucking say about this?" Hyde snarled, flattening himself against a chimney. _"Oh, hell?"_

 _The house, then._ _All the servants will be asleep, you can let yourself in_ _. There should be enough spare reagent there to change back._

"You can let yourself in," Hyde mocked, his lip curling. "Let myself right into prison, more like! They're bloody _everywhere!"_

 _If you've got any better ideas, I'd love to hear them,_ said Jekyll.

Hyde glared through the open window like he could murder the two policemen inside by sheer force of will. Doddle was with them, stupid, well-meaning Doddle, wringing his stupid hands and pouting into his stupid mustache, and Hyde would snap his stupid _neck_ if—

_Other_ _than murder, for God's sake. Pull yourself together._

"We're _fucked,_ Henry," Hyde said, trembling where he crouched.

_Not yet. Get back to the house. This is still fixable._

Snarling, Hyde lit out across the rooftops once again.

* * *

 

Gabriel goddamned Utterson was loitering by the front door, his hands in his pockets, his hat on his head. He probably even thought he looked inconspicuous.

"What now?" Hyde demanded of Jekyll, fixated on the lanky, dusty figure by the door.

 _Now you walk up and go inside,_ said Jekyll. _The most he'll do i_ _s_ _talk at you._

"He'll shout for the police, is what he'll do," Hyde said. "He's in on it, they're all bloody in on it!"

 _Yes,_ said Jekyll. _But I don't see any police, and Gabriel isn't the type to cause a scene. He's a lawyer, not an avenger. He may not even know what Lanyon's done._

"Not bloody likely," Hyde grumbled.

 _No,_ said Jekyll, _it isn't._ _We must try anyway. It's our best bet._

"And what if I knock him over the head, what then?"

 _Then there will be no hope of clearing your name, now or ever,_ said Jekyll. _This is_ _fixable,_ _but only if you_ _listen_ _to me and do as I say. Walk up to the front door, Edward. Like you've done nothing wrong._

Still seething, Hyde picked his way down from the rooftops and into a narrow alleyway. He straightened his hat, his shirt, his coat. He slipped the dagger he'd bought at Blackfog into his hand. He squared his shoulders and crossed the street. His footsteps were like gunshots in the silence, metallic and deafening. Utterson's eyes gleamed in the lamplight as he watched Hyde approach, and Hyde watched him right back, coiled to spring, tensioned to the breaking point. He mounted the steps to the door. He got out his key.

"Mr. Hyde?" Utterson said. Hyde turned like a whirlwind. Utterson backed up a step.

"What?" Hyde snapped. His hand was clenched on the dagger, trembling, sweating. His brain was buzzing in his skull.

"Do you remember me, sir?" Utterson said. There was a tremor in his voice.

"Of course I remember you, what do you want?"

"I am here on behalf of Dr. Jekyll," said Utterson.

"The hell you are!" Hyde snarled, bristling. Utterson took another step back.

"I can see by your agitation that you are aware you are a wanted man," Utterson said. "I am offering you this chance to escape. Leave London and Henry Jekyll behind, and I shall see to it that you are not followed."

"Liar!" Hyde raged. "It was never on Jekyll's behalf! I won't trust any promise you make, Utterson, you're a liar and a traitor!"

"Tonight, I am not Utterson," he said, drawing himself up wooden and towering. "Tonight, sir, _I_ am Mr. Seek. _Guest!"_

Strong arms caught Hyde from behind. He kicked out, snarling. The knife flashed in the lamplight. Utterson leapt for him. Hyde kicked him in the chest. Utterson tumbled backwards over the railing. Hyde struck out blindly. The knife sunk into flesh. A gasp of pain, a burst of hot blood. He struck again, like a scorpion. The arms lost their strength. He wrenched free. His attacker staggered back. Hyde plunged the knife into his chest. Blood sprayed his face. He leapt as the body fell, onto the railing, the gables, the roof. Shingles clattered under his boots. The blood was hot on his skin. The air burned his lungs. Chimneys flashed past, steam and smoke. The rooftops rose and fell like storm-tossed waves. He tripped on his own feet and tumbled into a darkened corner. The night was cold. He tasted copper.

For a long time, he did not move.

Hyde began to shiver as a bitter wind chased through his alcove. He could not seem to catch his breath, nor would the weakness in his limbs subside. Where once the blood had been hot, it was cold now, sticky against his skin. His right hand was covered in it, glued to the hilt of the dagger. The blade was dull and black under the yellow smog, dripping with gore. The bricks were rough and chilly against his back, catching his coat. The smell of dust and sweat and blood thickened the air until his lungs seemed stuffed with wool.

The horror came up slow and rotten, swelling from the core of him like maggot-riddled meat. Numb fingers let the knife fall from their grip, and it clattered away down the shingles. He looked down at himself, at the blood drenching his hands and splashed across his clothes. He cried out in terror, scrubbed desperately at the mess with his coat, only managed to smear it up to his elbows. He was going to hang. He could feel the rope already around his neck, choking, squeezing. He tore the coat from his back and fled in desperation. They would follow, they must already have been following, he had to escape, somewhere, _anywhere._ He was blind in his panic, he didn't breathe once as he fled, one mile, two, hunted and haunted. His sweat mingled with the blood and made it run, dripped candle-wax trails behind him. When his legs gave out he collapsed, weeping, lost.

Dear God, what had he _done?_


	10. Chapter 10

Utterson clambered up over the railing as Hyde fled and saw Mr. Guest crumpling to the ground. Utterson dropped down beside him. There was blood, so much blood. Guest was gasping and white with shock. Utterson ripped off his coat and balled it up, pressed it to the gushing wound in Guest's shoulder.

 _"Help!"_ he cried at the top of his voice. "Poole! Jekyll! Help!"

There were two other wounds, low on Guest's left side. Utterson cursed and pressed his knee against them. He kept hollering until the door opened and Poole darted out.

"Bring him inside, quickly, quickly!" he said, already helping Utterson to drag him in. "I'll fetch Dr. Jekyll!"

He scampered off again. Utterson kept as much pressure on Guest's wounds as he could, his jaw locked, lips pinched.

"I should never have brought you into this," Utterson said, the words thick with horror. "God, I should never have brought you into this."

"I'm all right," Guest said, strained and choked. "I'm—I'm all right, it isn't serious—"

A maid came barreling through in her nightclothes, wearing a man's coat. She sprinted out the door and away. Pool ran into the room after her.

"He isn't in, I've sent her for Lanyon," he explained, breathless. "What should I do?"

"Where is the light best?"

"The parlor, sir."

"Then let's take him there."

"I can walk," Guest said feebly. "It looks worse than it is."

"Hush," said Utterson. He brought one of Guest's hands around to press on the wounds in his side. "Keep pressure here. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Poole, help me move him."

Together, the three of them limped to the parlor. Poole moved the carpet and Guest was laid on the floor, wincing and gasping. All the lamps were lit, and soon after, Lanyon hurried in, doctor's bag in hand.

"Heavens," he said, darting to Guest's side. "Get his shirt open, I need to see the wounds. What happened?"

"Hyde," said Utterson, swatting Guest's fumbling hands away and undoing the buttons for him. First the coat, then the waistcoat, then the shirt. His undershirt was clinging to him, wet with blood. Lanyon whipped out a pair of scissors and sliced it open. It peeled away slowly, revealing wounds so dark with blood they were nearly black.

"I grabbed him, sir," Guest admitted, while the two worked. "I didn't know he had a knife. Twice in the side, sir, and then once in the shoulder after I dropped him. I think he meant to kill me, but his aim was poor."

"And thank God," said Utterson.

"Poole, I need clean water and cloths!" Lanyon called. Poole rushed off, and Lanyon delved back into his bag. "Where's Henry?"

"Not in," said Utterson.

"Clearly, but where _is_ he? If Hyde's been spurred to violence, he may not stop at just one."

Utterson's whole being tightened. "Am I needed here?"

"No, I can make do with Poole. Go and find him."

With a decisive nod, Utterson got to his feet. "I am sorry, Guest."

"I volunteered, sir," Guest said, smiling weakly.

Utterson pursed his lips, and then he was off, Guest's blood soaking through his clothes. There was no time to change—he'd hurry through the streets with his own blood drenching him if it meant rescuing Jekyll from a similar fate. Fortunately, both the night and Utterson's clothes were dark, so he didn't draw too many stares.

It took him a little over fifteen minutes to reach the Society. When he did, he made a beeline for Jekyll's laboratory, ignoring the gasping and shocked expressions of the lodgers as he steamed through. The door was open, and Utterson barged in without knocking.

One policemen and one lodger—Doddle, Utterson recalled—were loitering about in the room. Both of them leapt to attention as Utterson entered.

"Where's Dr. Jekyll?" he demanded, scowling at the two of them.

"What's it to you, sir?" the policemen countered.

"He may be in grave danger," he said.

"No kiddin'!" said the policeman. "By the look of you, at least! Comin' chargin' in here, covered in blood."

"What?" said Utterson. "No, it isn't mine."

"Then by God, whose is it?" the policeman exclaimed.

"Oh," said Utterson. His face became very hot. "It . . . belongs to my clerk. He was stabbed, you see. I feared his attacker might come after Dr. Jekyll."

"When? Where?" he demanded.

"At Dr. Jekyll's residence, not three blocks from here," said Utterson. "You'll find my clerk there, and Dr. Robert Lanyon attending to him. Dr. Jekyll was not at home, which is why I came here. But he isn't here, either, and I fear the worst."

"You don't think he's been killed, do you?" Doddle twittered, his face pinched with distress.

Utterson looked around the laboratory—the open window, the cluttered but intact state of the chemicals, the paperwork laid out neatly upon the desk.

"Not yet," said Utterson. He turned to the policeman. "He may have been kidnapped. Hyde is the man you're looking for, Mr. Edward Hyde."

"The same one what set all the fires?"

"Yes," said Utterson, with a twinge of guilt.

The policeman saluted. "I'll run tell the constable at once, sir! If he's anywhere to be found, we shall find him posthaste!"

"Good man," said Utterson. The policeman hurried out. Doddle edged up to Utterson's elbow, wringing his hands.

"What should we do?" he asked.

"Did you hear any commotion?" Utterson asked. "Any . . . struggle?"

"No, not at all," said Doddle. "Mr. Tweedy mentioned that he thought Mr. Hyde had been here, but there was no commotion. Which is unusual! For Mr. Hyde."

"Hm," said Utterson. "When was this?"

"Perhaps half ten?" Doddle guessed. Utterson checked his pocket watch. It was just past midnight.

 _"Hm,"_ Utterson said again, snapping the watch shut. He crossed to the window and looked out. There was a short drop onto a gable, certainly climbable, but impossible to carry a body down. There were scuff marks on the windowsill, as from shoes.

"Do you really think he's been kidnapped?" Doddle asked.

Utterson frowned. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill.

"I don't know," he said. He turned and made for the door. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Doddle. I must get back to my clerk. And—perhaps a change of clothes."

"Of course," said Doddle.

Utterson left, chewing his cheeks. Of one thing he was certain: wherever he was, whatever had happened, Jekyll was in a great deal of trouble.

* * *

 

Lanyon's morning was spent in a haze of unease. Utterson had returned the night before to inform him of Jekyll's disappearance—no sign of a struggle, he'd said, but it had likely all occurred before the incident on Jekyll's doorstep. The police were out in full force searching for Jekyll, or Hyde, and it was only a matter of time until one or both of them was found.

Lanyon had then helped him take Mr. Guest home. The clerk's wounds were not life-threatening, once stitched and bandaged, but he had lost a considerable amount of blood, and was having trouble walking on his own. After that, Lanyon had gone home, washed up and changed clothes. He had laid down in bed, but sleep had eluded him.

He could not help but feel that this whole bloody mess was, in large part, his fault.

The sun had come up, and he'd gotten dressed and come downstairs as though it was a perfectly normal morning. He attempted breakfast, although his appetite was poor. He retired to the sitting room, aware that he needed to make some sort of plan but completely at a loss for what to actually _do._ Mr. Hopwood brought him the morning paper and post, and Lanyon thanked him cursorily.

"Do you know if there's been any developments from the police?" Lanyon asked him. "Have they found Dr. Jekyll, or at least Mr. Hyde?"

"Not so far as I know, sir," said Hopwood. "I did glance at the paper, sir, but all it's mentioned is that Dr. Jekyll was kidnapped."

Lanyon sighed. "Thank you, Hopwood. That will be all."

Hopwood nodded to him and took his leave. Lanyon perused the paper, but there was nothing of interest—Jekyll's kidnapping (highly sensationalized) occupied the front page, and the rest was drivel. They were still on about the fire, of course, but nobody had anything new to say. It was briefly mentioned that the Blackfog Bazaar had gone, although they still took far too many words to say so. Lanyon laid the paper aside and turned to the post, which was equally dull.

About halfway through it, he found a folded sheet of paper with no envelope, smudged with grime and unaddressed. Frowning, he flipped it open.

He was astonished to see Jekyll's handwriting inside, and his astonishment only grew as he read what it had written.

 

_My dearest Robert,_

_I cannot say that I am safe, nor that I am well. I know that's what you want to hear, but it simply isn't true. With your help, God willing, I shall be both by the end of tonight, but I must have your help to do it. I ask only that you trust me, and follow my instructions. My life and my sanity both depend on you. Despite everything, Robert, I trust you with both. All I ask is a little faith._

_Please go to my laboratory at the Society and retrieve the fourth drawer from the top (3 rd from the bottom) from the cabinet marked "No. 6." Bring it back to your home exactly as it is, with all of its contents. Do not disturb anything. Also bring a glass flask, ten centiliters at least. Tonight, a friend of mine will retrieve these from you. You will know him—please, Robert, if you ever wish to see me alive and well again, give him the drawer and let him go away unfettered. You will not want to, but you must. It is life and death, Robert, and it is the only way you can save me._

_I remain, ever faithfully yours,_

_—Henry Jekyll_

 

Lanyon stared at the note, then raised his head and looked around the room in confusion, as though he expected to see Jekyll hiding in a corner somewhere.

"Hopwood!" he called.

The butler eased back into the room. "Yes, sir?" he said.

Lanyon waved the note at him dazedly. "Did this come in with the rest of the post?"

"I assume it must have, sir," said Hopwood. "I didn't remark upon it especially."

"I see," said Lanyon. He turned his eyes back to the note. "Thank you, Hopwood."

"Yes, sir," said Hopwood, and sidled back out again.

Lanyon studied the note for a few minutes. He got up and rifled through his old letters until he found one from Jekyll. He came back to his seat, studying them side by side.

"It's either Henry, or it's a very good fake," he said under his breath.

He chewed his cheeks. He checked the time. It was a quarter to ten. He made up his mind.

Lanyon got to his feet and tucked the note into his pocket. He retrieved his hat and coat, gloves and scarf. Briefly, he considered bringing Utterson along—but Utterson had brought nothing but trouble since he'd gotten involved, and he might manage to talk Lanyon around to another cockamamy plan that would, somehow, make everything _even worse._

Alone, he set out for the Society, the secret of Jekyll's survival burning in his chest like a coal.

* * *

 

There had never been a longer day in the history of mankind.

Lanyon spent it pacing, thinking, second-guessing and worrying. The note seemed coherent enough—was it possible that Jekyll was not in as dire danger as he seemed? But he had stated directly that his life depended upon this meeting, so clearly there _was_ danger, and dire at that. But what sort of kidnapper would allow such a note to be sent out, would shove it in the mail slot with the rest? Was it possible that Jekyll had not _been_ kidnapped, and that some other fate had befallen him? The caller, the "friend," was doubtless to be Hyde—there could be no other—but why would a kidnapper announce his visitation, open himself to possible arrest with so much forewarning? What sort of a ransom was a drawer full of chemicals and a flask? Was it possible Hyde and Jekyll were working _together,_ not as enemies but truly as friends, and if so, what on _earth_ were they trying to do?

Lanyon knew he should have gotten the police involved—they were already swarming all over London looking for Hyde—but he could not bring himself to do it. Mostly it was because Jekyll had so sincerely begged him not to in his note, but it was also because there was some part of him, some ceramic, scientific core, that more than anything else wanted an _explanation._

Very little was accomplished that day. He hardly had the attention span to eat, much less do any work. He tried a bit of wine to soothe his nerves, but found it only made him more anxious. As the sun set, he sent Hopwood and the other servants away, told them to remain in their quarters until the morning.

"Might I inquire as to why, sir?" Hopwood asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"No, Hopwood, you may not," said Lanyon. "But keep an ear out for trouble, would you?"

"Yes, sir," Hopwood said.

Eight o'clock came and went, then nine, then ten. Lanyon forced himself to stop looking out the windows, to sit down and wait. He occupied himself by tending to the fire in the grate. He checked the drawer from Jekyll's lab—some phials of chemicals, some salts, a bottle or two, all labeled with neat one- or two-word descriptions. The clock chimed eleven. Lanyon had a glass of wine because he couldn't think of anything better to do. The fire was not driving back the chill enough, no matter how he stoked it.

At ten minutes to midnight, there was a knock on the door.

Lanyon barely stifled a yelp, then got to his feet and composed himself. He went to the door and peered out through the sidelight. There was a man on the stoop, short and slender, bundled up against the cold. He had a hunted, agitated look to him, constantly fidgeting and looking over his shoulder. Lanyon opened the door.

"Mr—" he began, but the man shoved past him before he could get the next word out.

"Shut the door, would you?" Hyde snapped. His face was gaunt and pale. "Have you got it? Did you bring it?"

Lanyon shut the door. He suddenly, desperately wished he'd brought the fire poker with him. Hyde was vibrating where he stood, wild with tension.

"Yes," Lanyon said carefully. "But—"

Hyde was already off towards the sitting room like he knew the place. Lanyon hurried after him, put off.

"Now listen here," he said. "I'll not have you barging in here like you own the place, you little cretin. Before you get anything, you're going to tell me what you've done with Dr. Jekyll."

"Hah!" said Hyde. He'd found the drawer and was plucking things up out of it feverishly.

Lanyon grabbed him by the wrist and Hyde wrenched away, snarling. Lanyon leapt back with his fists raised. For a moment, the two stared at each other. Lanyon was sure Hyde was going to attack him, break out of all bounds and club him to the earth. He considered what a stupid idea it had been to send the servants away.

"You, sir, are a very wanted man," Lanyon warned. "I could have the police down here in an instant to drag you away. The _only_ reason I have not done so is because Jekyll asked me not to. So before you get anything, you will tell me where he is, and what has happened to him, and why you of all people are here representing him!"

"The hell I will," Hyde retorted. Lanyon recoiled from the violence in his tone. He wondered if the knife was still on his person. He swallowed and settled himself.

"What are the chemicals for?" he said.

"For your precious Dr. Jekyll," Hyde said, his lip curling. _"May_ I get on with it, or are you going to spend the whole night being a stubborn ass?"

"I—beg your pardon," Lanyon sputtered, but Hyde had already gone back to the drawer, single-minded. Lanyon did not try to stop him this time, wary of meeting a worse fate that Mr. Guest.

Hyde mixed some sort of potion from the contents of the drawer—it had the fizzing strangeness of Jekyll's alchemy, the dramatic and theatrical color changes. As the fizzing abated and the color settled, Hyde seemed to settle with it. Some of the violence eased from his posture, some of the hatred from his face. He put a thumb over the top of the flask and looked back to Lanyon.

"You've done your part," Hyde said. "If you let me leave, you'll have your Jekyll back by morning, and neither you nor he nor anyone else will ever hear from me again."

Lanyon drew himself up and clenched his fists.

"No, sir," he said. "You are going to take me directly to Dr. Jekyll, and then you or he or both of you or at least _one_ of you is going to explain what the devil has been going on!"

"All right," Hyde said, his lip curling. "Just remember you asked for it."

And he raised the potion to his lips and gulped it down in one swallow. Upon the instant, he snarled in pain, clutching at his gut and folding as though he had been struck. The flask fell from his hand and shattered on the floor.

"Oh, God," Lanyon remarked, wondering if the man had just killed himself. Perhaps he was trying to make a point, or maybe he'd just gotten the dosage wrong.

Hyde dropped to his knees, heaving with agony. Brilliant green ichor spilled from his lips, from his eyes and nose. His skin began to swarm with blisters.

"Oh, God!" Lanyon cried, and then, "Oh _God!"_ again as Hyde's form twisted and swelled, boiling with tumors. Lanyon staggered back, clamping a hand over his mouth to hold back a scream. Glowing green ichor splattered on the floor. The thing, the creature, gasped and moaned. The roiling flesh subsided. Auburn curls shone in the lamplight. Clothes stretched too tight over a taller frame. A slender, comely hand wiped the green ichor from the mouth. The face lifted, amber eyes locked with Lanyon's, still weeping their glowing tears. Lanyon looked on in abject horror, too stunned for words, for thought.

"Hello, Robert," Jekyll said, breathless and hoarse. He forced a sheepish smile. "I suppose you'll be wanting that explanation now."

* * *

 

After Jekyll had finished, the two of them sat in silence for some time. Lanyon could find no words to say, not condemnation nor comfort. It was all simply too much. Despite the fact that he'd seen it with his own eyes, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. It seemed a fantasy, or a nightmare, and some part of him still hoped he might wake up.

"So you understand," Jekyll said, "why I was so adamant that Hyde not be blamed. Why last night was such a—a travesty. I was terrified, Robert. I was . . . betrayed."

He said nothing. There was nothing to say. He felt as though he had been sitting there for centuries, decaying. Perhaps he would never move again.

"The other man," Jekyll said, with a slow dread in his voice. "With Utterson. Is he dead?"

Lanyon's jaw creaked open, rust flaking from the joints.

"Guest," he said. "It was his clerk, Mr. Guest. He survived. Barely."

Jekyll shut his eyes and turned his face away. For a time he did not speak. Lanyon wondered if Jekyll was as consumed by horror, by disbelief as he was. He still could not accept that it was Jekyll who had so violently lashed out against Guest. He could not bring himself to reconcile that vicious stranger with his dearest friend.

"It was never meant to go on this long," Jekyll said, pained. "Or to get this bad."

Lanyon did not reply. Jekyll sighed. Lanyon made the mistake of looking up at him, and the expression of utter despair on his face shattered every ounce of indecision Lanyon had held.

"I just wanted a night off," Jekyll said helplessly.

Lanyon took a deep breath to settle himself.

"Well," he said. "One thing's clear. This must stop at once."

"You're probably right," Jekyll said, pushing a hand back through his hair. "I've got a few tests that ought to be run, on either side of the transformation, then—"

"No, Henry, it has to stop _right_ _now_ _,"_ Lanyon interrupted. "Right here, tonight. We'll take this—this thing you've made, destroy all the chemicals, then . . . return to your laboratory and destroy the notes, and then to Hyde's—to your other location and destroy the copies as well."

Jekyll looked up sharply. "We absolutely will _not,"_ he snapped.

"You can't mean to keep on with this!" Lanyon said, horrified.

"I can, and I do," said Henry. "It's gotten out of hand, yes, of course. It's gone horribly wrong, but it can be _fixed._ Hyde is a loss, of course, a total loss, but he can be replaced, or altered sufficiently that it won't matter. I've made some mistake, that's all, some error in the methodology, and once I've found it, I'll put it right. It was never perfect. It went through a great deal of trial and error, it can stand to go through more. Once the exhibition is through with, and everything's financially settled, I can work on it properly. I can fix this."

"No, Henry, you can't!" Lanyon cried. "This is—this is _mad!"_

Jekyll paled, his hand clenching on the arm of his chair.

"So," he said. "The truth at last. If _that's_ your opinion of the Society, you may feel free to cut ties at any time."

"It's not about the Society, for God's sake! I know what goes on at the Society, I know the people there and I've seen the things they do, and I don't _give_ a damn! _This_ is mad, Henry! What you are _doing_ is mad!"

"This is my _work,_ Robert," he said, his voice taut with emotion, his eyes red with unshed tears. "This is my _life._ I am not going to throw it away because _you_ couldn't keep your nose out of it!"

"It's got nothing to do with me!"

"It's got _everything_ to do with you! I wouldn't be _in_ this mess if you and Utterson hadn't decided to play Fairy Godmother behind my back. I had _everything_ under control—"

"You had _nothing_ under control!" Lanyon interrupted. "Hyde was a disaster waiting to happen and you damn well know it! For God's sake, Henry, you nearly killed a man!"

"And it never would have _come_ to that if you hadn't meddled!" Jekyll snarled. "I won't be bullied into abandoning my life's work because of one mistake!"

"You passed _one mistake_ years ago!" Lanyon retorted. "You are at one _hundred_ mistakes, one _thousand_ _!_ I recognize that look on your face, I _remember_ that look, and I am begging you, please, _let this go._ You know I'm only trying to keep you safe. Please, for the love of God, just this once, _let me._ Don't go back into those woods. Don't go back into that darkness."

Jekyll went cold and still, trembling with some inner violence.

"If you can't take it," he said quietly, "then you are free to walk away, and I shall never bother you again."

He got to his feet, towering and grim, the gleam of fervor in his eyes, flame on his breath and thunder in his voice.

 _"But you will not take it from me,"_ he declared.

Lanyon stared up at him, and for the first time saw him as he truly was.

"You really _are_ mad," he murmured, even as his heart crumbled in his chest.

Jekyll held out his hands. Lanyon watched him for a moment more, then dropped his gaze, and got to his feet, and placed the drawer from the lab in Jekyll's outstretched hands.

"Goodbye, Lanyon," Jekyll said.

"Goodbye, Henry," said Lanyon.

Jekyll walked away. The door closed behind him. Silence descended upon the house, upon Lanyon.

Slowly, he sank back into his chair. Slowly, he put his face in his hands. Slowly, he folded over and rested his knuckles on his knees.

He did not sleep that night, nor for many nights after.


	11. Chapter 11

Jekyll was so furious he couldn't see straight. He got back to the Society mostly on muscle memory. His head was full of red fog, bloody and fire-lit. His hands were clenched on the drawer, the wood biting into his flesh. He barely felt the pain. He barely felt anything at all.

The titters of surprise as he entered the Society only reached him distantly. Griffin and Helsby rushed up before he'd made it four steps. The moment he'd stopped—mostly to keep from trampling them—Pennebrygg and Flowers and Bird burrowed out of the woodwork to descend upon him.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said, deflecting their barrage of questions. "I'll tell you all about it later. Excuse me. No, I'm not injured. I really must get back to my lab. Excuse me. Yes, first thing in the morning, please do let go of my sleeve. . . ."

Thus dribbling politenesses, he managed to work his way to his laboratory door, dragging the lodgers along with him like Jupiter with its herd of moons. It took nearly five minutes for him to extract himself sufficiently that he could actually go _into_ the laboratory and close the door behind him. He locked it immediately. He stood by it, holding very still, until the twittering voices of the lodgers had moved away.

The apologetic smile slithered off his face like a silk ribbon. He turned and went to the cabinet to the left of his desk, put the drawer back in its place. He plucked the bottle of wine off the desk.

He threw it out the open window as hard as he could. It shattered on the roof opposite. He stuffed his knuckles in his mouth and screamed into them until his breath ran out. He sank to his knees, folded until his forehead touched the floor. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, hissing his breaths through bared teeth.

For uncounted minutes, he remained there, shaking uncontrollably, dripping tears onto the hardwood. His chest was caving in. It hurt so much he thought he would die.

_He never really understood you anyway._

"Be _quiet!"_ Jekyll snarled, his voice cracking. "For God's sake, for once in your _miserable_ life, _shut up!"_

For once, Hyde did as he was told.

Jekyll stayed curled up on the floor, letting the attack run its course. It was enough just to be safe. It was enough just to be _himself._ Despite everything else, at least he had managed that.

When his breath was coming a little easier and his knees had started to ache, he unfolded himself and went to close the window, shutting out the cold. Only his own reflection looked back at him from the glass. He creaked his way to the cheval glass and sat down with his back against it, exhausted. At some point he would have to go home. At some point he would have to fashion some sort of explanation. He supposed at some point he would have to find a new primary sponsor for the Society.

 _That money already dried up,_ said Hyde, coalescing over his shoulder. _When you think about it, you haven't lost anything._

"You _would_ say that," Jekyll said, too tired to argue with him. The pain was back in his chest, hollow. He wondered if his heart might be giving out. He wouldn't have minded terribly.

 _Because unlike you, I've always been able to look the truth in the eye,_ Hyde said. _He didn't even know you. Not the_ _real_ _you. The moment he caught sight of it, he abandoned you. No_ _real_ _friend would do that. He was always unbearably clingy. He was always jealous of your work. It's not surprising he tried to make you abandon it for him._

Jekyll leaned his head back against the glass, his eyes drifting closed. A pair of arms draped over his shoulders, his chest. Hyde leaned his head against Jekyll's, soft as eiderdown.

 _Lanyon was always a small-minded fool,_ he went on. _You know he never understood you. He was always trying to hold you back, always thinking he knew better. He was always ignoring your wishes. It's his fault this happened. He's the one who set us back. We're better off without him._

"He meant well," Jekyll said, without much conviction.

 _Of course,_ said Hyde. One phantasmal hand stroked the inside of Jekyll's arm. _But we all know what the road to hell is paved in._ _We're on a different road, Henry. The road to the_ _truth._ _It's only getting harder because we're getting close!_

"You can't possibly know that," said Jekyll.

 _But you do,_ said Hyde. _Isn't that the way of things? We've been at this long enough to know that's the way of things. You've just got to keep_ _going,_ _bear down and push through. And when it gets to be too much, I'll be here to ease the strain. I'll always be here for you._

Hyde's other hand carded through Jekyll's hair, tender and casual, fingers brushing against all the most pleasant spots.

"You're in an awful lot of trouble," Jekyll mumbled, leaning into the touch.

 _For now,_ said Hyde. _You'll find a way to get us out of it. It's not a catastrophe, after all. It's only a setback._

"Only a setback, yes," said Jekyll. He really was _incredibly_ tired.

 _That's right,_ Hyde said, soothing. _All of this will blow over soon, and then everything will go back to normal. Better than normal, because you'll have less dead weight dragging you down. Onwards and upwards, Henry._

"Always," he said. He yawned. Hyde kissed his cheek chastely.

 _Go home and sleep,_ he said. _After all you did to pull us out of the fire Lanyon set under our feet, you deserve it._

"Sounds like a wonderful idea," Jekyll said vaguely.

 _Of course it is,_ said Hyde. _It was_ _my_ _idea, after all._

Jekyll cracked a smile. "Vain as ever."

_What can I say, it suits me~_

With a deep breath and a drawn-out groan, Jekyll heaved himself to his feet, shedding Hyde like a cloak. He rubbed his face and rolled his shoulders.

"God, what a mess," he muttered under his breath.

 _Sleep first,_ Hyde said. _Then pessimism._

"There's no time for that," said Jekyll. "Either of them. We've lost an entire day. _Again."_

_And again thanks to Lanyon. At least go home and change clothes._

Jekyll looked down at himself. He was still wearing Hyde's clothes, spattered with blood and grime. He winced.

"I walked into the Society looking like this, didn't I," he said.

 _You did,_ said Hyde. _Knowing your lodgers, though, by morning they'll have convinced themselves you fought half the criminals in London bare-fisted and won._

He snorted. "You're not far off the mark," he said. He wrinkled his nose. "I suppose I _had_ better change."

_And have a bath. You smell_ _horrific._

Jekyll rolled his eyes.

"You are simply determined to waste my time, aren't you." He checked his watch; it was nearly three o'clock in the morning.

_I'm only trying to help. You can't very well go meeting sponsors looking—and smelling—like you do._

"Fine," he sighed. "If it will keep you quiet."

 _But of course, my dear doctor,_ said Hyde. _The show's all yours._

* * *

 

Despite the hour, Jekyll was almost knocked off his feet by Poole just moments after opening the door. The man flung his arms around Jekyll and burst into tears.

"Oh, Dr. Jekyll!" he exclaimed, overcome by emotion. "Oh, sir!"

"Poole," Jekyll said mildly, uncomfortable but extremely flattered.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, dear me, where are my manners," Poole said, releasing him upon the instant and stepping back. His watery blue eyes were red with tears. He looked like he hadn't slept at all since Jekyll had last seen him. Jekyll sighed and embraced him.

"It's all right," he said, patting Poole's back while he sobbed. "I'm all right."

"Oh, we were terribly frightened, sir," Poole said, muffled by Jekyll's shirt. "After what happened to poor Mr. Guest, we were scared witless for you!"

"Yes," said Jekyll, a needle of guilt piercing through his chest and letting out all the warmth that had been welling up there. "I can only imagine."

Poole sniffled mightily and stepped back again, holding Jekyll out at arm's length like a father would hold his son.

"You're not hurt at all, sir, are you?" he asked.

"Not at all," Jekyll assured him. "Only a bit shaken up, that's all."

"Good," said Poole, with a decisive nod. "And if I should ever get my hands on that wretched Hyde, I shall—I shall give him a piece of my mind, sir, you may be sure of that!"

Jekyll laughed, overwhelmed with fondness for the man. He patted Poole's shoulder and extracted himself.

"I'm sure you would, Poole," he said. "Alas, I doubt you'll ever get the opportunity. We are well and truly rid of Mr. Hyde."

"He's dead, then?" He sounded entirely too excited at the prospect.

"Near enough, Poole," said Jekyll. "Near enough that it doesn't matter."

"Well!" said Poole. "And thank God."

"Thank God," Jekyll agreed. "If you'll excuse me, Poole, I think I would like a bath and a change of clothes."

"Of course, sir," said Poole, snapping to attention. "I shall have a bath drawn at once."

"You're a blessing, Poole," Jekyll said. "And I don't deserve you."

"Nonsense," Poole tutted. He bustled off, leaving Jekyll standing in the darkened entryway. Jekyll rubbed his face, feeling the exhaustion stealing up on him again.

"Oh, hell," he muttered.

* * *

 

Between the hours of four and nine a.m., Jekyll finally managed to make some headway. He finished his post-fire inventory of the Society's assets, wrote several letters to potential sponsors, and drafted some sensationalist pieces capitalizing on his presumed kidnapping. Apparently he'd been on the front page, which was excellent news. It was just the sort of publicity to bring in the crowds. He took a short break for some sort of breakfast, which unfortunately sent him into the kitchen, because he couldn't reasonably cajole anyone else into bringing him something.

As he'd feared, Rachel was there. She stiffened when he entered, and he nodded politely to her.

"Good morning, Miss Pidgley," he said.

"Morning," she said.

There were croissants. He nabbed a couple and checked that there was enough water in the kettle for tea. He started it to boiling. Rachel's attention rested heavily against his back the whole time.

"Heard you got kidnapped," she said at last.

"Only briefly," he said. "It's nowhere near as exciting as it sounds."

"They said Hyde did it."

"I'm sure they do."

"And you're just going to let them go on saying so?" she asked sharply. "Because you and me _both_ know he didn't. I talked to him last night."

"Before, or after he stabbed Mr. Utterson's clerk on my doorstep?" Jekyll inquired politely.

There was a moment of silence.

"He never," said Rachel.

"I assure you, he did," said Jekyll.

"But he didn't _kidnap_ you!"

"Not in as many words, no, but things were rather tense for a time."

"But he _wouldn't!_ Edward's harmless, he just _thinks_ he's a—a depraved villain! He's practically a kitten!"

"And when cornered, even kittens have been known to scratch men's eyes out," Jekyll said diplomatically. "As I've said, it wasn't a kidnapping in so many words. He . . . needed my help to get out of London, and I helped him."

There, that was a satisfactory lie. He could embellish it as necessary, but it was best to keep it as simple as possible in the mean time.

"Why?" said Rachel.

"Oh," said Jekyll, turning to her with his most pleasant face on. "You didn't know?"

"Didn't—didn't know what?" Rachel said, guilt and apprehension creeping onto her face.

"Apparently Dr. Lanyon laid a clever trap for Mr. Hyde," said Jekyll. "Police all round his house and in my laboratory here. His intent was to blame Hyde entirely for the fires so that the rest of us could continue on unfettered, but evidently he had some difficulty catching him out to do it. I'm not entirely sure what happened—Edward was rather out of sorts—but I gather there was some breach of trust that sent him skipping merrily towards his doom. I think they would have hanged him, you know."

Rachel had gone very pale indeed. She looked like she might start crying.

"That's—horrible," she said.

"Yes, isn't it," said Jekyll. "I suppose you're lucky you got to chat with him last night, before it all happened. I'm surprised he didn't come to you for help. I was given to understand the two of you were close."

The kettle whistled. Jekyll poured himself a cup of tea, dropped two lumps of sugar into it. He stirred, unhurried, until the spoon stopped crunching at the bottom of the cup. He tapped the spoon against the side of the cup and placed it neatly next to the sink.

"Ah well," he said. "I doubt we shall ever see him again. After what he did to poor Mr. Guest, I'm sure he has no friends left here."

"S-sure," said Rachel. "Of course not."

Jekyll smiled at her, pitying.

"We were all taken in, Rachel," he said. "Perhaps me most of all. There's no reason to feel guilty over it. It's not your fault he was a liar."

"Nobody ever said it was," she said, turning her back on him. Her voice was thick and shaking. Jekyll sipped his tea.

"No, certainly not," he said. "The croissants are phenomenal, by the way. Good morning, Miss Pidgley."

He left. It took until he got back to his lab for the guilt to catch up with him.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he hissed at himself, sickened. "Why would you _do_ that? God's sake, it's not like she _knew!"_

Himself didn't answer.

* * *

 

After that, there was a near-constant stream of lodgers poking their heads in to check on him. Most of them made some pretense or at least excuse, but there were a few who didn't even attempt to hide their blatant nosiness. Jekyll dealt with them all deftly and politely, giving as little information as he could get away with. They'd weave some grander story for him outside the door, and he would roll his eyes and sigh and very carefully neither confirm nor deny it when it inevitably got back around to him. It was a practiced dance, as comfortable as it was tedious.

He had to admit, though, that the attention was nice. It was flattering to have such explicit confirmation that he would be missed if anything ever _did_ happen to him.

For the sake of getting out of the place for a few hours, he attended his scheduled lunch with several well-known philanthropists and did his damnedest to convince them to hand over extremely large sums of money to the Society. The silver on his tongue was a little tarnished from disuse, but the presumed kidnapping made a good enough excuse for that. The old farts were decidedly more interested in that than in the science, which was enough to make him clench his fists under the table but not enough to mar his charm. He would have talked about damn near anything if it meant wringing a few more cents out of them.

In the end, they left him with promises of support, coupled to the usual _nice young man_ comments. Jekyll saw them off courteously and then returned to his lab to collapse. He was good at this, but by _God_ was it ever exhausting.

He had just laid his head down on his desk (certainly not for a nap) when there was a knock at his door. He stifled a groan and sat up.

"Yes, come in," he said.

Jasper slunk in, looking sheepish and apprehensive.

"Er, hi," he said.

"Hi," said Jekyll, unable to keep from smiling.

"I hope I'm not disturbing anything."

"Not a bit," said Jekyll. "What can I do for you?"

"W-well, it's only, I heard about last night," he said. "So it's more like, I wanted to know if . . . there was anything _I_ could do for _you."_

 _God, yes, everything,_ he thought, heat wicking up his spine. He took a deep breath and pushed it back down.

"That's very kind of you, thank you," said Jekyll. "At the moment, I seem to have it all under control, but I'll certainly let you know if I think of anything."

"Right," said Jasper, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sure. I—I'm glad you're, y'know, all right."

"So am I," said Jekyll.

There was a moment. Jasper squirmed like someone had poured ants down the back of his shirt.

"Um," he said. "There . . . there _was_ sort of something I wanted to talk to you about. If you've got time."

"Always," said Jekyll, folding his hands and sitting forward.

"It's . . . sort of unprofessional," he mumbled.

"Ah," said Jekyll, torn between frustration and hope. "Let's have it, then."

"Well, it's—it's to do with Mr. Hyde," Jasper said, turning crimson.

 _"Ah,"_ said Jekyll. "That."

Jasper looked up at him in horror. "Oh God," he said. "Don't tell me you already knew?"

"Alas, I did," said Jekyll. Jasper buried his face in his hands, moaning.

"All this _time?"_ he said, muffled.

"I thought it would be impolite to mention it," said Jekyll. "After all, your business is your own, no matter how cavalierly Mr. Hyde chooses to disclose it."

"It wasn't anything!" Jasper whimpered. "It was stupid and—and—"

"Everyone makes bad decisions from time to time," Jekyll said. "Especially when extremely drunk."

Jasper let out another piteous moan. With a sigh, Jekyll got up and went to him, laid a hand on his shoulder.

"If you're feeling guilty, there's no reason for it," he said gently.

"He _kidnapped_ you!"

"I wouldn't call it that."

Jasper sniffled. He took his hands away from his face, revealing how miserable it was.

"I wish I hadn't saved him," he said. "If I'd've known, I never would've saved him."

"You know, despite everything, I'm still glad you did," said Jekyll.

Jasper gawped at him, huge honey-golden eyes welling with perfect astonishment. "You _are?"_

"Yes," said Jekyll. "I'm of the opinion that the truest heroes rescue anyone who _needs_ it, regardless of whether or not they _deserve_ it. I think it says a great deal about you that you were willing to risk your life even for someone as . . . undeserving as Mr. Hyde."

"'S nothing," Jasper mumbled, although a smile was tugging at his lips.

"It's far from nothing."

Jasper wrinkled his nose. He glanced at Jekyll and immediately looked away again.

"Um," he said. "With everything . . . before that."

"Yes?"

"Just, um, I dunno. I was—sort of angry with you. And maybe that's sort of why it happened like it did. And I'm really sorry. I just—yeah. Dunno why I felt like I had to say that, but there it is."

The way he was blushing and fidgeting, Jekyll thought he had a pretty good idea.

"Jasper, you're half my age," Jekyll said. Admittedly, it was mostly to remind himself.

"Seven twelfths," Jasper mumbled.

"That's not better!"

"It's one twelfth better."

"It—for God's sake," said Jekyll, at a complete loss.

 _What about Rachel,_ he did not say. _Won't she be upset,_ he didn't ask. _I thought you and she were definitively involved,_ he didn't mention.

"I'm not asking for anything," Jasper said, dead in earnest, with his huge puppydog eyes and his nervous hands and his sheepish little smile. "I just—I only wanted to clear the air, is all, because I had to tell somebody or I'd go mad and you're the only person here I can really trust. That's all, honestly, I swear, and I'm really sorry, I know it's not fair—"

It really _wasn't_ fair, it was so damnably unfair, he couldn't even take a night as Hyde to get it out of his system, and rather than fixing the issue the last encounter seemed only to have whetted his appetite. He could still feel the hands in his hair, the breath on his neck, the vast hollow ache in his chest, and it was _killing_ him.

Hell with it.

He took Jasper's face in his hands, cutting off the endless stream of embarrassed babbling. Jasper went still, captivated.

"Jasper," Jekyll said, "do you _want_ to ask me for something?"

"But—you said—"

"Forget what I said."

"I—I dunno," Jasper said. "I mean, there's Rachel, I sort of . . . I mean, there's _Rachel."_

"Rachel doesn't have to know," said Jekyll. "If you don't want her to."

"That seems like an awfully bad idea," said Jasper, meeting Jekyll's eyes at last.

"It's up to you," said Jekyll, while his heart thundered in his chest and his blood glowed in his veins.

"I guess I've already . . . sort of. . . ." Jasper was drifting in closer, as though by gravity.

"So have I," said Jekyll.

Jasper kissed him. It took his breath away, so much sweeter and softer and more _real_ than it had been as Hyde. Jekyll melted, knowing it was wrong, knowing it was cruel, knowing it could only end in misery. It didn't matter. Right then, nothing mattered but Jasper.

If Hyde was unavailable, then Jekyll would have to do.


	12. Chapter 12

Utterson hadn't heard from Lanyon in three days, and his patience had stretched as thin as it was able. Something, he reasoned, must have happened in conjunction with or immediately after the kidnapping, something that had catastrophically altered Lanyon's mindset. Utterson would have expected him to be crowing with delight over the disappearance of Hyde, magnetized to Jekyll's side to prevent anything else from happening to him; but although Jekyll had been making fairly regular appearances as he prepared for the exhibition, nobody Utterson talked to had seen Lanyon at all.

So it was that when Utterson called on him at home, and Hopwood answered the door with an eyebrow already half-cocked, he decided upon the instant that he wasn't going to go away until he'd gotten some answers.

"I'm afraid Dr. Lanyon isn't seeing anyone, sir," Hopwood said.

"Will you at least ask him?" Utterson said.

"He was very adamant."

"Tell him that it's me, and that I'm concerned for his wellbeing," Utterson said.

Hopwood's eyebrow went off, and he lifted his chin imperiously.

"I shall inquire," he said. He left Utterson standing on the doorstep.

Two minutes later, he returned, and ushered Utterson into the conservatory. The curtains were drawn, and there was a fire in the grate. Lanyon was sitting in front of it, gaunt and sickly. Utterson hovered in the doorway while Hopwood went away.

"You may as well sit down," Lanyon said, and his voice was dull, hollow. He did not look up.

Utterson minced into the room and sat down on the very edge of the nearest chair to Lanyon.

"All this darkness will do you no good," he said. "We ought to open the curtains."

"No," said Lanyon.

"Then at least we can light the lamps."

"The light hurts my head, Gabriel. Leave them off."

He was still staring into the fire. His hair was mussed, his clothes disheveled.

"Something has happened," Utterson concluded.

"Has it?" said Lanyon.

"It very clearly has. Talk to me, Robert. I want to help."

He shook his head, his lips pinching into a thin line.

"It's not my place to say," he said. "I have learned something terrible, and I wish I hadn't."

"Is it to do with Jekyll?"

"I am _done_ with Henry Jekyll," Lanyon snapped, his hands clenching into fists. "I am done with him, and I want nothing more to do with him."

"Ah," said Utterson, taking this in stride. "I see."

He wondered what could possibly have turned Lanyon so virulently against Jekyll, and in such a short space of time. A scientific falling-out seemed unlikely; they'd been bickering with each other like an old married couple about whose field was more legitimate since Utterson had met them. Lanyon had supported and indeed indulged even the most fanciful of Jekyll's projects, including the founding of the Society and the subsequent antics therein. It must, he thought, have been something more personal, something that cut far deeper.

"Still," Utterson went on. "I would hope that you're not done with the care and keeping of yourself. It would make things tremendously hard on Hopwood, for starters."

"Gabriel, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but stop," said Lanyon. "I'm not interested in being cheered up. I'm not interested in company."

"You let me in simply so you could tell me to go away again?" Utterson asked.

"I—no, of course I didn't—" Lanyon sputtered, then put his face in his hands with a groan. "Damn you, Gabriel, you perfect fool."

Utterson reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever it is," he said, "I'm certain it can be mended."

"It can't, and I don't want it to be," Lanyon said into his hands.

Utterson pursed his lips, tickling his nose with his mustache.

"Then there's no use dwelling on it, is there," he said.

Lanyon swatted at him halfheartedly, revealing the ghost of a smile on his face.

"Don't make me like you," he said. "I'm a misanthrope now, I've committed, let me wallow in peace."

"Ah," said Utterson. "I see. Far be it from me to stand in your way. I shall strive to be as unlikeable as possible."

Lanyon sighed and pushed his hands up into his hair, resting his elbows on his knees. He cracked a wan smile, shook his head, and looked at Utterson for the first time.

"What would I do without you, Gabriel?" he asked.

"Moulder, presumably," said Utterson.

"You're horrendous," Lanyon said, rolling his eyes. With an effortful grunt, he levered himself to his feet and went to the window. He didn't so much fling the curtains open as tug them an inch apart, but it did plenty to brighten the room. He stood looking out for a time, his expression pinched and serious.

"If there's anything I can do," Utterson offered.

"I don't know that there is," Lanyon said. He shrugged helplessly. "Sometimes people simply—fall apart, I suppose. Perhaps it's best to let it happen."

"Hm," said Utterson. "I'll doubtless be . . . in the vicinity, as the exhibition approaches. Should you need anything to be taken care of in that general area."

Lanyon regarded him fondly. "Your attempts at circumlocution are clunky but appreciated," he said. He sighed, dropping his gaze. "But I don't think I shall be wanting anything from Jekyll. Now or ever. We—you and I played no small part in what happened. I think perhaps it's time we stepped away."

Clarity burst down over Utterson like the light of heaven. Lanyon must have been consumed by guilt over Jekyll's kidnapping; Utterson was in a similar position over the harm done to Mr. Guest. Of course Lanyon, being of a more excitable disposition, was taking it far harder and with considerably more dramatics than Utterson. Besides that, Lanyon considered himself Jekyll's mentor, and had always taken a certain amount of personal responsibility for his protégé. If Utterson could facilitate an exchange of forgivenesses, it would all be smoothed over and quickly forgotten. He, too, felt he ought to apologize to Jekyll, and while he was at it he might as well communicate that Lanyon was just as contrite. Tensions were already high due to the stress of the exhibition, but once that was done and over with, this little tiff would surely blow over like a summer thunderstorm.

"Perhaps," he said diplomatically.

"We should have left well enough alone, Gabriel," Lanyon said heavily, gazing out the window like a poet.

"Admittedly, he did tell us to," said Utterson, heat rising to his cheeks.

"No, long before that," said Lanyon. "Long before all of this . . . mess. I lost him fifteen years ago. I've just been too naïve to see it."

Utterson pursed his lips and chose not to comment on this. Instead, he got to his feet.

"Shall I stay to ensure you eat and sleep, or will you manage that on your own?" he asked.

Lanyon sighed. "I'll manage," he promised. He hesitated, then turned from the window and crossed to Utterson. "Thank you, Gabriel. I . . . I think I needed a bit of grounding."

Clasping his hand, Utterson said, "I shall ask Hopwood to bring you a heaping handful of dirt."

The smile that broke across Lanyon's face was fleeting, but genuine. He patted Utterson's hand.

"You truly are a treasure," he said. "Irksome, but a treasure."

"I'm your friend, Robert," he replied. "It's what we do."

* * *

 

It had taken Jasper the better part of three days, but he had made up his mind. He'd been avoiding the Society, and Rachel, and Jekyll, holed up in his room alone with his creatures and just trying to _think._ It hadn't been easy, and he still wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, but he was sure he was doing the best available thing.

He took a deep breath and knocked on Mrs. Cantilupe's door.

"Just a moment! On my way, just a moment!" she called from inside. There was a clatter, hurried footsteps, and the sound of at least four locks being drawn back. Mrs. Cantilupe threw open the door, frazzled and grinning. Her face fell when she caught sight of Jasper and the cartload of creatures behind him.

"Er, hi," he said.

"Mr. Kaylock," she said, concerned. "What's this about?"

He looked at his feet and rubbed his arm.

"W-well, see," he mumbled, "I'm—they're gonna need a place to stay, is all, and I thought, since all your and Miss Lavender's creatures got killed in the fire, you could have them. So long as you're—as you're good them, you've got to be good to them, because they're all very sweet and lovely, and—but that's sort of off the point."

"I'm sure we'd be happy to look after them," Mrs. Cantilupe said. "Are you . . . going somewhere?"

Jasper took a deep breath.

"I'm going back to my farm," he said. Despite the number of times he had rehearsed the words, they still stuck in his teeth. "I'm . . . leaving the Society. I'm leaving science. I can't—I can't do it. I don't want to do it anymore."

"Oh, Jasper," Mrs. Cantilupe said, pained.

"Please don't try to talk me out of it," he blurted, before she could get any farther. "Please, honestly, please don't. I've got to go. I've got to leave, and be done with it. But I need somebody to take care of all my creatures and I know you and Miss Lavender would be good to them and could use them for your cryptozoology and everything so I'm leaving them with you but please _please_ don't try and talk me out of it because you will and then it'll just keep getting worse."

He sucked down a breath. His sinuses were stinging. Mrs. Cantilupe's gaze prickled on his face.

"Has Virginia gotten you a functional wolfsbane potion yet?" she asked.

"Not . . . quite," said Jasper.

"It might be good to get that before you head out," said Mrs. Cantilupe. "Just for safety's sake. I'm sure whoever's at your farm will appreciate it, too."

He looked up at her, welling over with gratitude. She was regarding him with pity, but also with understanding.

"Y-yeah," he said. "That's . . . a good idea. I'll—can I hand these over to you?"

"Of course, we'll bring them in," said Mrs. Cantilupe. "Miss Lavender is out hunting specimens, otherwise I'd have her help, too."

"That's all right, I'm sure we can manage."

Together, she and Jasper wrangled all the crates and cages into her lab. When they were all settled, Jasper hung about, looking all of them over. They were in good hands, he reminded himself.

Better hands than his, at any rate.

"Mr. Kaylock?" Mrs. Cantilupe said, breaking him from his reverie.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's all right," she said. "But before you go, may I ask you: why?"

Jasper bit his lip. It couldn't do much harm, certainly not more harm than had already been done. At least one person would know the truth.

"I'm just . . . I'm not used to this much attention," he admitted, rubbing his arm. "Or . . . any attention, really. And it's—it's really nice, it's really, _really_ nice, but . . . it makes it hard to say no. Much too hard to say no. To anyone. Ever."

Mrs. Cantilupe's face cleared with understanding. She pursed her lips and put a protective hand on Christopher's cage.

"Mr. Kaylock, I promise you, Miss Lavender and I will take extraordinarily good care of these creatures," she said. "And, should you ever want to visit, or to resume your work, they will be here for you."

"Thanks," he said. "Honestly, thanks. I—I was worried people'd be . . . angry. About me leaving. About me . . . giving up."

"Anyone who is, is a fool and a bastard," said Mrs. Cantilupe. Jasper snorted.

"Thanks," he said again. "Will you—d'you think you could tell Rachel? I-it's just, it's hard enough as it is, and she'll want to know why, and—"

"Certainly," Mrs. Cantilupe said. "Would you like for me to wait until you've gone?"

"No, just . . . whenever you see her, I guess," he said.

"As you wish," she said. "And, for whatever it's worth, I'm terribly sorry. I do hope you'll come back someday. If not to us, then at least to crypto-biology. The field needs good people, and you are one."

"I'm not," Jasper said, shaking his head. "I'm—really, _really_ not."

"Can I tell you a little secret, Mr. Kaylock?" Mrs. Cantilupe said. "Something I've learned in my seven decades."

"Yes?" he guessed.

She leaned in, a look of mischief on her wrinkled face.

"There'sno such thing as good people," she said. "There's only people who learn from their mistakes, and people who don't."

He managed half a smile.

"I'll try to remember that," he said.

"Good luck, Mr. Kaylock. And take care, wherever your path takes you."

"Thanks," he said. "I'll try."

They both stood there for a moment. Jasper made a constrained gesture towards the cages.

"D'you mind if I . . . say goodbye?" he asked. The last word came out as a squeak, and pulled a pair of tears with it.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Cantilupe said. "You take as long as you need."

Jasper sniffled. He sidled over and poked a finger through the bars of Christopher's cage. Christopher nibbled at him.

"Be good," Jasper said. "Be good, and don't—don't let anybody bully you, and eat your food, and don't light anybody's bed on fire when you're molting. All right? Be good, I mean it."

Christopher puffed up and shook out his wings. Jasper rubbed his cheek with one finger, sniffling. Christopher leaned into it for a moment, then got distracted and moved away. Jasper wiped his nose on the back of his hand, then crouched down and poked his hand into Mina the serpopard's carrier. She lifted her head sleepily and blinked at him.

"Hey," he said. "As for you. Be good, and look after Christopher, and. . . ."

* * *

 

_"Jasper!"_

He paused, turning back. He had only a couple of bags, which he was handing off to a cabbie. Rachel ran up to him and leaned her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

"Er," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hi."

"Mosley said you were leaving London," Rachel panted. "What's going on, what happened?"

"I, w-well," Jasper stammered, going red. "It's just . . . I don't think I'm cut out for this."

 _"This_ what?" Rachel cried. "You mean the Society? Jasper, you've been doing fantastically, it's just that things are all messed up right now. Everybody's having a rough time of it. I know it's stressful, but—"

"It's not—it's not that," said Jasper. "I just—sometimes you've just got to go home. It's all too much, being in the city like this, and everyone, and everything, and . . . I just want to go home. I just want to go back somewhere where things . . . make sense."

"Well, are you—are you coming back?" she asked helplessly.

He shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Is it—Jasper, it's not something to do with Jekyll, is it?" Rachel said. "Because, if it is—"

"I really don't want to talk about it," he said, going crimson.

"Did he hurt you?" she demanded. "Because if he hurt you, I'll beat his stupid face in, I don't give a damn."

"No, he didn't—no," said Jasper. "It's really not him. Or—it's not completely him. It's everybody. Or maybe it's just me, I dunno. I don't want to be here anymore, that's all there is to it. I want to go home."

"You're at least taking your creatures though, right?" said Rachel. "You'll at least keep doing your science stuff, won't you?"

"Maybe," he said again. "Since all my notes got burned up, I was going to have to start over anyways, so . . . maybe. But I've left all my creatures with Mrs. Cantilupe and Miss Lavender, 'cause when I left, my Mum said I couldn't come back if I brought them."

"I don't s'pose there's anything I can do to change your mind?" she asked.

"No, I mean, there is," he said. "But please don't."

She looked at him for a long moment, at the discomfort and the shame and the pain, and decided she didn't want to.

"Could I at least have a goodbye hug?" she asked, aching right down to the bones.

Jasper fidgeted, and bit his lip, and rubbed the back of his neck, and in general looked like he was in so much distress that it was a wonder he didn't burst into tears.

"It's all right if not," she added gently.

He sagged, then glanced at her, then tipped his head in allowance.

"Maybe a—a see-you-later handshake," he said.

"Right," said Rachel, pleasantly surprised. "Yeah. That sounds good."

After a moment's awkward pause, she stuck out a hand. After a second's hesitation, Jasper shook it.

"So, see you later," he said.

"See you later," said Rachel.

He turned away, his hand slipping from hers. He climbed up into the cab and shut the door, then waved to her through the window. The cab started off. She watched it go until it turned a corner. She wrapped her arms around herself.

"See you later," she said again.

After just a moment more, she went back into the Society.

There were other people who still needed her.

* * *

 

Jekyll looked at Utterson as though he was a particularly tiresome dog who had followed him home.

"If this is about Lanyon, I'm not interested," he said.

"Why not?" Utterson said, too shocked for diplomacy.

"Because he's made it abundantly clear that he has no respect for me or anything I do," Jekyll said. "Now unless it's about the exhibition, go away."

He tried to shut the door in Utterson's face. Utterson caught it.

"What on earth happened between you two?" he demanded.

"A falling-out, Gabriel, clearly. Now if you will excuse me—"

"I won't," Utterson interrupted. Jekyll glared at him.

"Then I shall put it bluntly," Jekyll said. "What happened between Lanyon and me is none of your business."

"I'm your friend, Henry," Utterson said. "I'm trying to help."

"All your _help_ has done so far is make things worse," Jekyll said. "I think I would prefer to do without it, thank you."

"I'm sorry," Utterson said. "And Lanyon is sorry. We ought to have listened to you about Hyde, we both admit that. I'm here to make reparations, whatever that may entail. Lanyon is taking things awfully hard—"

"I don't give a damn about Lanyon," Jekyll said.

Utterson blinked.

"Oh," he said.

"Whatever you're trying to do, Gabriel, whatever you're trying to accomplish, stop it," Jekyll continued. "I neither need nor want your help, except as it pertains to the success of the exhibition. While I'm grateful for all that you've done so far, in that regard, I can and will find someone else to handle it if you're incapable of keeping your nose out of my personal business."

"I— _well,"_ said Utterson, stung. "Of course, if you'd prefer—strictly professional interactions, then I can . . . accommodate."

"I would prefer that, yes," Jekyll said sweetly. "Seeing as your meddling in my personal life has unilaterally made a mess of things."

"I see," said Utterson, who did not. "In that case, I am . . . sorry to have disturbed you. And I will wish you a—a good day, Dr. Jekyll."

"Good day, Mr. Utterson," Jekyll said. He closed the door. Utterson stood there blinking for a good two minutes, trying and failing to understand what had just happened.

Miss Flowers wandered past the bottom of the stairs and saw him.

"Jekyll shut the door in your face?" she asked.

"Yes," Utterson said vaguely.

"He's been like that," she said, and continued on her way, shaking her head.

In the end, Utterson simply went away.


	13. Chapter 13

Things had gone incredibly bad incredibly quickly. It had all happened so fast that Jekyll was hard-pressed to pick the exact moment when he'd tipped over the precipice and plummeted directly into hell.

At some point after his dalliance with Jasper, later on that same night, he had fallen asleep on his desk. He couldn't have dozed for more than an hour or two before coming around again, but he'd felt the nap had done him good, leaving him more energized, more enthused, ready to take on the world. By force of habit, he had reached for a bottle of wine.

With a startlingly small hand.

He'd stared for a good five seconds before leaping to his feet and rushing to the mirror. Green eyes and blond hair confronted him, not illusory but truly reflected in the glass. His heart hammered wildly. He rushed to lock the door. There was no air in the room. Surely it must have been a nightmare, surely it couldn't be real, but no matter how he pinched and slapped himself, he would not wake up.

The facts were indisputable. He had fallen asleep as Henry Jekyll, and woken up as Edward Hyde.

Barely swallowing down his panic, he had somehow managed to mix a dose of the potion and get himself back into his proper shape. His mind had been besieged by fear, and he could do nothing but pace, pace and worry and talk to himself.

"A fluke," he muttered. "Some accident. The stress, perhaps. That's all it is, a fluke. It's all right. It's all right."

Hyde had been uncharacteristically silent. Jekyll almost wished he would speak up, just so he would have someone to yell at. For safety's sake, he decided to stay at the Society, in his lab if possible, just in case of a repeat performance.

Over the following three days, there had been several.

Jekyll could no longer deny it—every time he fell asleep, even if only for a few minutes, he would wake again as Hyde. The trembling terror that overtook him made it nearly impossible to get himself back, Hyde's volatility pushing him more towards flight than reasonable mitigation. He stayed locked in his laboratory at the Society as much as humanly possible, kept all conversations brief. There was no telling what might develop next, what other strange side-effects might be lurking in his blood. He slept as little as possible, for fear of someone walking in on him when he was Hyde. He certainly did not go home—the odds of Poole bustling in first thing in the morning and catching him in the wrong body were far, _far_ too high.

His attempts to set things up for the exhibition were crumbling, like sandcastles at the incoming tide. He could not focus, so great was his anxiety at being outside of his laboratory, away from his alchemy and in the public eye. There was too much that could go wrong. His charm slipped on more than one occasion and it was only through abject groveling that he managed to prevent total catastrophe. His days were wrapped in fog, his nights bleak and full of terror. Every slightest twinge in his body sent him into paroxysms of fear, heralding (he was sure) an unprompted transformation during his waking hours.

That would be the end of it, he knew. That would be the moment when he was unsalvageable, when he would have to flee forever, or at least until he could work out how to make it stop. He prayed he could last until the exhibition. He did not hold out much hope.

The news got around to him that Jasper had taken off, seemingly without warning or reason. He supposed that was for the best. It would be fewer distractions, less potential for being caught in a compromising position. What was one more lost friend to him then? It had been inevitable that Jasper would catch on to Jekyll's inherent wickedness; better he left now, before any further harm could be done. Better he left without ever knowing the full depravity of what Jekyll had done.

Near the end of the third day, Utterson tried to talk with him. Jekyll sent him away as harshly as he could, trying to ensure he wouldn't come back. The last thing he needed was another friend—his last friend—seeing the same horrors Lanyon had and betraying him in the same way. He would much rather Utterson hate him mundanely than know that it was Jekyll who had so viciously wounded Mr. Guest, who had lashed out so violently at Utterson himself.

When Utterson had gone, Jekyll went back to his desk and sat down. Everything hurt. He could scarcely keep his eyes open. He'd been avoiding sleeping, and it was catching up with him. He just had to hold out a little longer, just until most of the lodgers had gone to bed and wouldn't be knocking on his door unexpectedly. He cast a longing look at the new bottle of wine, but resisted. It certainly wouldn't help with his wakefulness. Coffee would be better for that, but he'd have to leave the lab. . . .

_Just lock the door, and to hell with it,_ Hyde said, eyeing him from inside the bottle.

"We haven't got enough of the chemicals to be spending them frivolously," Jekyll said. It was the first time Hyde had said anything (outside of his own body) in days. It was something of a relief, or at least a return to normalcy.

_So get more,_ said Hyde. _It's not hard. Send Poole for it, if you can't be arsed._

"In the morning," Jekyll sighed, rubbing his eyebrow.

_Listen, if you sleep a whole night, you'll end up using less in the long run, since you won't be dropping off every two hours._

"Are you giving me _good advice?"_ Jekyll asked, eyeing him dubiously.

_I don't want to wind up hanged any more than you do,_ said Hyde. _I'm not_ _stupid,_ _you're just_ _boring._

"Not nearly boring enough," Jekyll muttered. He yawned. "But I can't very well sleep at home."

_So sleep here, under the desk or whatever._

"And what if someone comes in?"

_Then change back, idiot,_ said Hyde, rolling his eyes. _It's not like it's hard. If the door's locked, nobody's going to just come barging in with no warning._

"There's too much to be done," said Jekyll. "I can sleep—"

_When the exhibition's over,_ _God,_ _you're like a phonograph,_ Hyde said, flitting into the cheval glass in order to more properly fling himself about in juvenile ennui. _Why can't any of your cylinders have fun things on them, like swears?_

"You're a fine one to talk, O Spirit of London at Night," Jekyll drawled. "At least I'm not pretentious."

_Yes you are,_ said Hyde. _You just bother trying to hide it._

Jekyll shook his head. "The _point_ is, the less of the potion we use, the less likely we are to experience further side effects. Even _you_ can't deny that."

_Which is why you should_ _sleep,_ said Hyde, his lip curling. Jekyll's eyes narrowed.

"And when you wake up, what will you do?" he asked.

_Don't give me that, I'm in deeper shit than you are,_ Hyde said. _It's not like I can have any fun. Not only are the peelers after me, but Lucy and the Forty Elephants said they'd come back for me. I'll stay here and play by your rules, just don't expect me to be happy about it._

"Anything you're happy about is unquestionably a bad thing," Jekyll said. "So I'll take your malaise as a reassurance."

_Hah-hah, don't you have work to do?_

"What, no further quips?"

_I'll quip at you whenever I feel like it,_ Hyde said. _And I don't_ _feel_ _like it right now._

"Hm," said Jekyll. "Maybe when the exhibition's over."

_Ugh,_ said Hyde, and summarily evaporated.

"I shall take that as a win," Jekyll said to himself.

Unfortunately, after that, he did have to get back to work, and it was a lot less fun.

* * *

 

With four days left until the exhibition and less than half the necessary funding to pull it off, Jekyll was left with no choice but to continue fraternizing with wealthy potential patrons, no matter how dangerous it seemed. He carried a flask with the base tincture for the transformation and a phial with the salt, just in case he fell asleep in the carriage. He had lunch with an overbearing and tiresome old man by the name of Stride, with whom he was reduced to flirting shamelessly, and then tea with one Lady Carew, who was doddering but kind, and whose daughter (Emma)took a much firmer interest in Jekyll than he had been prepared for. In any other circumstance, he would have been delighted; as it was, he was digging his fingernails into his own thigh under the table.

"And there are women at this Society of yours?" Emma asked—demanded, really.

"Of course," said Jekyll. "We're of the opinion that inequality of the sexes would be, ah, what's the word I'm looking for, _unproductive._ It does no one any favors to ban half the population from making meaningful contributions."

"Ah- _hah!"_ Emma cried, slamming her hand down on the table with considerable force. "You hear that, mother? I told you he'd be on my side!"

"Oh dear, are there sides?" Jekyll said, more to himself than anyone else.

"Emma, my dear, I've told you time and again, it's simply too dangerous for you," Lady Carew said, shaking her head. "Why, in the past week there's been both a fire _and_ a kidnapping!"

"Those were unrelated incidents," Jekyll said, although he got the feeling that the conversation no longer included him.

_"Precisely,"_ Emma said, her eyes blazing. "I _want_ fires, mother, I _want_ kidnappings! It's so damnably _dull_ round here, I shall _die."_

"Emma, please," Lady Carew said. "We've talked about this unladylike language, not in front of our guest—"

"Damn, damn, damn!" Emma cried. Jekyll decided he rather liked her. "I shall go to the damn Society and be a damn scientist and there isn't a damn thing you can do to stop me! You may as well fund the damn thing, mother, or else we shall both look damn silly!"

"For heaven's sake, Emma," Lady Carew said. "If you don't stop carrying on like that, I shall—"

A sudden pain lanced through Jekyll's chest, knocking his breath out. His ears filled with ringing. His flesh began to crawl.

_Oh dear God, no,_ he thought.

"—Dr. Jekyll?" Lady Carew said, muffled. "Good heavens, sir, you've gone white as a sheet. Is something wrong?"

"Yes," he gasped. He could taste the brilliant green ichor on the back of his tongue. "Terribly sorry, I must—excuse me—"

He fled, locked himself in the next nearest room, and not a moment too soon. The transformation overtook him rapidly, leaving him curled on the floor and trembling with terror. His mind was a roaring tempest, wordless and impenetrable. This was the last straw. He was ruined. He was finished. He was _trapped,_ there was no way out, they were going to catch him, they were going to _kill_ him—

No, too far, it wasn't that dire yet. His hands found the flask and the phial, fumbled them out onto the floor where he could see them. He just had to mix the potion and change back. It would be all right, so long as he was quick. He just had to remain calm.

Hyde somehow managed to get the thing mixed without spilling any, despite the violence with which his hands shook. He didn't even bother to get up off the floor. He had to put his ear to the flask to determine when the potion had stopped fizzing, when it was ready. He drank it down like a man who had been lost in the desert for two days. He capped the flask and braced himself.

And nothing happened.

"No," he gasped, sick and furious, "no, God, no, not now, not now!"

Still his body refused to change. Hyde tore at his hair, beat his fist against the floor in helpless anguish. He couldn't go back to the Society—they had all seen Jekyll leave, would come looking if they heard someone moving about in his laboratory, would demand explanations he didn't have. He couldn't stay here—he would be seen, and recognized, and chased and caught and tried and hanged. His only option was the house—if he could get back into Jekyll's shape, he could invent a convincing enough story, one that meshed with what Lady Carew and Emma had seen.

With no further thought than that, he leapt to his feet and clambered out the window, onto the rooftops. He had to waste a precious minute rolling up his trouser legs when he nearly tripped on them and fell to his death. He was conspicuous in the daylight, but he would have been more conspicuous in the streets. The driver of the cab would have recognized him instantly, more likely to drive him to the police station than home. He'd make up an excuse for why he hadn't taken the cab homewhen he was back in Jekyll's more sober mind.

After that it was a mad dash, zig-zagging across the roofs of London. He felt every eye in the city upon him. If anyone had waylaid him, he was sure he would have killed them, such was his panic, such was his fervor. When he reached the house, he tried to get in through the laboratory window and found someone had locked it. He was inches away from smashing it in, so frayed was his composure. He still had his keys in his pocket. He forced himself to retreat, to wait and watch. He hid in the alcove by the front stairs, where he would be hidden from nearly all passers-by. When patience produced no results, he took the empty flask from his pocket and threw it at the front door as hard as he could.

Moments later, the door opened a crack and Poole poked his head out. Hyde dashed round to the back of the house, fumbling with the keys. It took six tries to get the right one in the lock. He slipped inside, closed the door as quietly as he could, crept for the laboratory. The front door closed as he was making his way up the stairs, and he abandoned all pretense of stealth, running the last ten yards. If Poole heard him, he could make excuses; if Poole _saw_ him, the game was up.

He shut the laboratory door and darted to his cabinet. The days of constant struggle had not made him any more adept at preparing the potion in the midst of panic. He heard someone ascending the stairs. He mixed a double dose, just to be sure, just to be _absolutely_ sure.

As he drank it down, there was a knock on the door.

"Dr. Jekyll, sir, is that you?" Poole asked.

The wracking pains seized him, and he crumpled to the floor. Somehow he managed to keep any glassware from breaking. In a moment, he was Jekyll again, curled up and panting, his heart still pounding, but safe.

"Yes," he said back. "Had to take a—a rain-check, not feeling terribly well."

"Should I come in, sir?"

"No, no, it's all right, I'll be all right in a moment," Jekyll said.

"Yes, sir," said Poole, although he did not bother to hide the distrust in his voice. Jekyll heard him go back down the stairs, and sagged until his forehead touched the floor.

"Hell," he whispered. "Oh, hell. Oh, _fuck!"_

_This is bad,_ Hyde said, his voice trembling. Jekyll's head snapped up. Hyde was pacing in the cabinet glass, no less frantic than he had been moments ago.

_"Bad?"_ Jekyll parroted, climbing to his feet. _"That's_ the understatement of the century. This is a _catastrophe!_ Why couldn't you leave well enough alone?"

_Me?_ Hyde cried, rounding on him. _I haven't done_ _anything,_ _what the hell are you blaming_ _me_ _for?!_

"I _knew_ there was something wrong! I _told_ you there was something wrong, and you wouldn't listen!"

_You're the one who chose to kept changing!_

"Because you wouldn't _shut up!_ You and your stupid, selfish hedonism, look at where it's gotten us! If you could have just taken a week off, if you could have just left me _alone_ for three days running—" 

_I_ _am_ _you!_ Hyde roared, blooming with green fire. _Everything I do, everything I feel, everything I am—_ _you_ _do it,_ _you_ _feel it, you_ _are it!_

"Liar," Jekyll hissed. "You did this to us, not me!"

_Look at what you did to Rachel,_ Hyde snapped. _Look at what you did to_ _Jasper!_ _You did it,_ _you_ _did it, not me. You're_ _it,_ _Jekyll. You're all there is!_

He stepped forward through the flames, and they burned his form from him like it was nothing more than spider silk. Jekyll's own face stared back at him from the glass, furious, ruinous, green-eyed and cruel.

_There's nobody in here but you,_ he said, his lip curling. _There has_ _never_ _been anybody in here but_ _you._

Jekyll stared at him—at himself. His jaw clenched. He lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. Hyde mirrored his movements perfectly.

"Then I suppose there's nobody who'd object if I were to do something irreversible," Jekyll said.

_I suppose not,_ Hyde sneered.

Jekyll picked up the wine on his desk and poured out a glass. He set the bottle down and got the key out of the carved wooden box next to it. He turned and unlocked the drawer, took out the phial of white salt. When he turned back, Hyde had resumed his habitual countenance and was lounging about like a cat.

Jekyll held his gaze as he dumped out the entirety of the phial into his wine, as he stirred it.

_You're not fooling anyone,_ Hyde said.

"I'm not trying to," said Jekyll.

The spoon crunched against the bottom of the glass. His hands were steady.

_You've wasted all of it now,_ said Hyde.

"It won't be wasted," said Jekyll.

He tapped the spoon against the side of the glass and set it aside. He sat down. He wrapped his hand around the glass. It was warm.

_You're bluffing,_ Hyde said, folding his arms and regarding Jekyll through half-lidded eyes. _You're not getting me with that one again. Checkmate._

Jekyll raised his eyebrows and inclined his head.

"Cheers," he said, raising his glass to Hyde. 

He drank. 

Hyde stared at him in open-mouthed horror. All the sparkle and shine had vanished, leaving him sodden, gray, haggard.

_No,_ he said, horror rising like swamp water around him. _No._ _No!_

"Ruins the bouquet," Jekyll remarked. He drank again.

_Stop it! Stop doing that!_

"They'll say it was the stress," Jekyll said absently. His lips were tingling. "It's killed better men than me. I shall die on the shoulders of giants."

_You've lost your mind! If you can't_ _go on_ _, then let_ _me!_

"The only thing I will let you do is die with dignity," said Jekyll. He took another long drink, wincing at the bitterness after he swallowed. "Which is better than you'd get on your own, I assure you."

_God_ _damn_ _you Jekyll, you_ _madman!_

"Am I?" he asked sweetly. He drank again. The glass was more than half empty. "Am I a madman, Edward?"

_Yes!_ he cried. _For the love of God, stop this!_

"That's precisely what I'm doing," said Jekyll. He drank the last of the wine. He set the glass down. "Who knows, it may even drive up attendance for the exhibition. Everyone loves a good suicide."

_There's still time,_ Hyde said, desperate. _Henry, please, there's still time, throw it up, or—_

"Oh no, I'm afraid that won't work," said Jekyll. "Absolutely no gag reflex whatsoever, you know."

_I'm_ _sorry,_ Hyde said, weeping, pressed against the inside of the glass. _I'm sorry, for everything, I was wrong, you were right, but there's_ _nothing_ _I've done that a capital offense! It's still fixable, this is all still_ _fixable,_ _please, God, I don't want to die!_

"You're right, it is fixable," Jekyll said. "I'm fixing it right now." 

_Please,_ he begged. _Henry,_ _please._

"No," said Jekyll.

A sudden pain struck through his stomach and he winced. He was already having trouble catching his breath. With the dosage he'd used, he had fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, thirty at the outside. Hyde was sobbing, helpless, wordless, nothing left of him but fear and despair. That was all right; in half an hour, there would be nothing left of him at all. There would be nothing left of either of them. 

All the toil, all the struggle, all the scrabbling at the walls—it would all simply go away. Lanyon would burn his notes, he was sure of it; better that no one know, better that his name stand pure and holy even if he had not been. The Society would bury him, would mourn him, would forget him. Science would march on. It would march on without him. The alchemy, the poetry of the old ways, the cursed miracles he had wrought and vast truths he had glimpsed, would all be lost again, their secrets snuffed out like candle flames. He would die, and it would all die with him.

He would die.

He was going to _die._

"God in heaven," Jekyll whispered. "What am I _doing?"_

He leapt to his feet. He ripped open the top drawer of his desk. The pain struck through him again, harsher, fiercer. His vision began to blur. Clumsy hands flung papers to the floor. He had to find it, quickly, while there was still time. It would be a close-run thing, but if he was quick, if he was quick enough—

A lance pierced his abdomen and stuck there. He crumpled against the desk, gasping. It was worse even than the transformations, a thing he hadn't thought possible. His whole body convulsed. His heart raced. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't get up.

_"Poole!"_ he screamed. The pain would not stop. He convulsed again. His head cracked against the desk. Scrabbling fingers knocked the wine glass onto the floor. It shattered. His hand found the empty phial.

The door burst open. 

"Dear God!" Poole cried, rushing to his side.

Jekyll shoved the phial into his hands. He was trembling uncontrollably. His eyes wouldn't focus. The pain was consuming him, clawing up his throat red-hot. 

"Lanyon," he gasped.

Poole was running before the second syllable had hit the floor. The door swung closed behind him. Another convulsion tore through Jekyll, toppling him. The pain was blinding, unbearable. His stomach was full of molten steel.

He curled into himself and prayed.

There was nothing else he could do.


	14. Chapter 14

Utterson came over again for tea the day after his initial visit, and Lanyon couldn't pretend he wasn't grateful. Losing Jekyll's friendship so suddenly had been like losing an arm—it had left him unbalanced, handicapped. He found himself struggling to do even simple things. It was difficult to think about anything else for any length of time. Having Utterson around helped, although the lawyer seemed preoccupied and gravely concerned.

They did not talk about Jekyll. Even though it left gaping holes in their conversation, it was probably for the best.

"How is Mr. Guest?" Lanyon asked, after one such silence.

"Convalescing admirably," Utterson said. "I believe he's enjoying being waited on."

"Couldn't possibly blame him," said Lanyon. "Just be sure he doesn't get too used to it."

"I doubt he will," Utterson said. "He's young enough that a sedentary lifestyle is unappealing. Sometimes I fear he'll run off and join the police, simply for the opportunity to be stabbed again. He's had a taste of what he thinks adventure is and it's softened his head."

"Oh, I don't know, young Mr. Guest could have a successful career in law enforcement," said Lanyon. "You've told me he's an avid student of handwriting, haven't you? Perhaps they'll make a detective of him."

"Tut-tut," said Utterson, shaking his head. Lanyon smiled at him.

"And I suppose you would be out a very fine clerk," he said.

"There are plenty of fine clerks in the world, Robert," said Utterson, offended. "I don't want the silly fool to get himself hurt again—and on my account, as well!"

"Consider it a voyage of self-discovery," said Lanyon, teasing. "And you simply the winds by which it set sail!"

"You're making fun of me," Utterson grumbled into his mustache.

"Only a little, Gabriel. Only so much as you deserve."

"I don't deserve any of it."

"It's only because you've got no sense of—"

Someone banged on the door so ferociously it sounded like they were trying to beat it down. Hopwood hurried past the conservatory door on his way to answer, but Lanyon got to his feet as well, curious about the disturbance.

"What on earth now?" he wondered.

"I hope no one's hurt," Utterson said, frowning.

"My good sir!" Hopwood exclaimed from the entry, and there was a thundering of feet and Poole dashed into the room. He was whey-faced and breathless, without his coat or hat. He ran straight to Lanyon and grabbed him by the arm.

"Something's terribly wrong with Dr. Jekyll, sir," hesaid urgently. "He sent for you, he gave me this."

He foisted a small glass phial on Lanyon. His hands were freezing cold.The phial was empty. It was labeled with a single word in Jekyll's hand.

_Strychnine._

Lanyon sprinted for the door. He was down the steps and out onto the street in a heartbeat, in a single bound. His feet pounded against the cobblestones. Cold air stung his face. His lungs burned. His legs were on fire. His vision blurred. People scattered before him. Those that didn't, he shoved aside. He bounded up the steps to Jekyll's home, past the maid, up the stairs. Other footsteps thudded behind him. He burst through the door to the lab.

Jekyll was curled up on the floor, convulsing. It was too late for modern medicine already, he could see that. Lanyon ran to him and dropped to his knees. Utterson said something authoritative. Poole warbled out a _yes, sir._ The door closed.

"Henry," Lanyon panted, taking his face in his hands. "Henry, what do I do? What do I do, Henry?"

Jekyll's eyes were unfocused, weeping. His face was blue. He was drenched in sweat. He had minutes left, at best.

"Robert," he gasped, clutching at his shirt. "Robert—the wolf. The wolf."

"He's delirious," Utterson said, kneeling across from Lanyon. Jekyll moaned and spasmed. He kept repeating it, over and over— _the wolf, the wolf—_ syllables slurred half into oblivion.

Lanyon looked back over his shoulder. There were papers strewn all over the floor, a drawer of the desk ripped out.

"No he's not," he said. He leapt to his feet, foisting Jekyll off onto Utterson. "Keep him conscious!"

Jekyll yelped and sucked in a breath through his teeth. Lanyon fell upon the notes like a madman—they were in Jekyll's own hand, smudged with bloody fingerprints. Dozens of pages littered the floor. Titles like _Universal Elixir_ and _Mediator_ stared up at him.

"Shh, shh," Utterson murmured. "It's all right, Henry. It's going to be all right."

"What is it called?" Lanyon demanded. "Henry, what is the potion called? I need the name!"

Jekyll cried out, a piteous scream of unbearable pain, and Lanyon cursed under his breath.

"Henry, shh, easy," Utterson said. "What's the name of the potion?"

Lanyon could not focus on the papers. They passed through his hands like water. _Spagyric Tincture, Universal Fire, Flesh Weaver, Grossman's Herbal Elixir,_ all useless, all wrong.

"Gabe—Gabriel?" Jekyll whispered. "It—hurts, it _hurts,_ please—"

"I know," Utterson said. "I know, Henry. You need to tell us the name of the potion, so that we can make it stop hurting."

"Robert—where's—"

"He's here. The name, Henry."

He gasped in agony, and Lanyon folded, mirrored pain striking through his heart. His fists clenched on the papers, the useless, stupid papers—

"Elixir," Jekyll mumbled. "Elixir of life. . . ."

Lanyon scrambled for the right paper, it had to be here, it must have just passed through his hands, where _was_ the damn thing?

"Aha!" he cried, snatching it up. He leapt to his feet and darted to the lab bench. His hands shook, his eyes would not focus. Bottles, reagents, he needed the ingredients first, but _God_ the place was such a mess!

"Gabriel?" Henry said again, as though he had forgotten.

"I'm here," Utterson said. "Robert's here. It's going to be all right."

"I'm frightened," Henry whimpered. "I don't want to go, I don't—I don't want—I can't—"

"Henry, your organization is abominable!" Lanyon called over his shoulder. His voice was trembling, like a wine glass in the instant before it shattered. "As soon as this is over, we are implementing a _systematic_ categorization of your reagents!"

Jekyll made a choked noise and Utterson cursed. Lanyon glanced back. Jekyll's back had arched like a bow under full tension, his fists clenched and his jaw locked. Utterson was holding him, waxen and terrified. Lanyon vowed not to look back again. He put his full attention on the alchemy before him.

"Don't be afraid, Henry," Utterson said, keeping up his low murmur of assurances even as Lanyon tore through the laboratory like a whirlwind. "It's going to be all right. It's going to be all right. Robert and I are here. It's going to be all right."

Jekyll gasped suddenly, and whimpered, and his breath came fast and shallow and labored.

"Robert—" he slurred. "Robert . . . you were right. You were—you were right. . . ."

"There will be no talk of that kind!" Lanyon admonished. He dumped the reagents on the lab bench, fumbled with the glassware. "When you are healthy and well, good sir, you may grovel to your heart's content, but you will not talk like that now!"

Jekyll's only response was to cry out in pain again, weaker, _God,_ so much weaker, they were running out of time. . . .

"I know," Utterson said to him. "I know. Hold on, Henry. Just hold on a little longer."

Lanyon set the first reagent to boiling, burning his hands on the bunsen flame. He didn't feel it. He couldn't possibly have felt it. The hiss and gurgle of the alchemy grew louder in his ears, deafening, drowning out Jekyll's gasping and Utterson's soft reassurances. The words on the page swam before his eyes, once so neat and scientific, written in Jekyll's immaculate hand.

"Not to mention your labeling!" Lanyon went on, because he had to speak or he would scream. "Simply abysmal! I don't know what sort of science you think you've been doing, but it's unacceptable!"

The solution boiled and Lanyon added the second reagent, the yellowish salt. He spilled half of it over the side. He added more, maybe too much or not enough. Precision was gone anyway, it was guesswork and prayer, instinct and hope.

"Clearly you never learned how to keep a proper laboratory in school," Lanyon said, choked by the lump in his throat. "I'll have to teach you all over again, you've gotten complacent, and now look at what it's bought you! Reproducibility, Henry, it's all down to reproducibility, and I'll not let you get away with this shoddy—shoddiness!"

Pale green smoke coughed from the bottle as the solution began to turn blue. Lanyon added the third reagent, drop by drop. His hands shook so hard that he had to hold his own wrist to even hope to get any of the liquid inside the flask.

"You're damned lucky I'm brilliant, you know! All this alchemical nonsense, even _with_ your translations, half of it's gibberish anyway. You'd be lost without me, I've said it before, I'll say it again, completely lost, Henry! When all this is done with, you and I are going to have a _very_ long talk about—about—about everything, and you're not going to go running off again, not this time, by God, I won't let you. Do you hear me, Henry? You'll not be running away from me again!"

"Robert," Utterson said.

"No," said Lanyon. The world was only smears of color. He couldn't breathe.

"Robert," Utterson insisted.

"Don't interrupt me, Gabriel, this is very delicate work!"

"It's too late, Robert," Utterson said, very softly, very gently.

Lanyon had to brace himself against the table. His eyes overflowed with tears and he squeezed them shut. There was a round river stone in his throat that he couldn't swallow down, stopping his breath, his words. The acrid, sulfurous stench of the alchemy thickened the air to a yellow miasma. His mind was full of white fog and silence.

He turned to look.

Utterson knelt on the floor, cradling Jekyll in his arms. The convulsions had stopped, and he was still, he was very still. The amber eyes were glassy, doll-like, the lips parted. One arm hung limply to the floor, the pale fingers half-curled; the other was draped across his stomach, relaxed, almost casual. He was not breathing. His head lolled against Utterson's elbow, baring his throat. He was not breathing. He was not breathing.

Lanyon sank to the floor, his legs unable to hold him any longer. Gently, Utterson closed Jekyll's eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks unheeded, dripped from his chin onto Jekyll's shirt. Something clawed and ruinous was rampaging through Lanyon's chest, shredding everything.

Utterson clasped Jekyll's hand in his own, as though there was any comfort left he could provide. Lanyon shattered all the way through. He collapsed into wracking sobs, ugly and unmindful, garish in his grief. Utterson was silent. Jekyll was silent. Jekyll was dead.

Henry was dead.

Lanyon's anguish spent itself as a fire would, leaving nothing but ash and smoke in its wake. He could not look away from Henry's body. Utterson was still holding him, still weeping silently over him, still holding his hand.

The alchemy boiled over, spilling sickly orange liquid all over the table. It dripped down onto Lanyon's head, forcing him to move, to take his eyes off of Henry. He'd forgotten that he could.

Utterson looked up, met his gaze. The wooden facade was gone, leaving only a man; a man cradling his friend's corpse in his arms.

"What in God's name _happened_ here?" Utterson said, lost and in pain.

Lanyon could not answer him.

 

**THE END**


End file.
